


What We Cling To

by JellyShark



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dolores Umbridge is Her Own Warning, F/M, Gen, Harry Potter Has Issues, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mentor Minerva McGonagall, Occlumency, Slow Burn, Spell-Crafting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 116,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28637559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyShark/pseuds/JellyShark
Summary: Harry’s 4th year at Hogwarts ended in tragedy. Now, as he faces a world darkened by  Voldemort’s return, he must cling to those he loves more than ever. Struggling with his guilt, Harry resolves to work harder so that he can protect others from Cedric’s fate. Follow a slightly sadder Harry through a different fifth year at Hogwarts as he deals with an evil pink-clad professor, a mysterious connection to Voldemort, and the very real trauma of his past.
Relationships: Harry Potter & George Weasley, Harry Potter/George Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Minerva McGonagall & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 241
Kudos: 380
Collections: Fave Harry Potter, Harry Potter





	1. The Never-Ending Summer

**Chapter 1: The Never-Ending Summer**

The rows of identical houses on Privet Drive were quiet. An illusion of calm seemed to hang over the neighborhood. Despite the unbearable heat, the street was asleep.

The peace of the night was disturbed by a strangled gasp as Harry Potter jolted awake from yet another nightmare. He had just re-lived the death of Cedric Diggory for what must have been the thousandth time. He pulled in ragged breaths as he tried to dismiss the image of those blank, dead eyes.

He untangled himself from the sweat-soaked sheets and stood on unsteady legs. Grabbing his glasses from his bedside table, he made his way over to his desk and plopped himself down onto the rickety wooden chair. He shoved his glasses onto his nose and glanced at his digital clock. It was just gone 4 O’clock in the morning.

This was hardly the first time Harry’s sleep had been disturbed by nightmares. He hadn’t managed more than five hours of sleep since the third task. Harry was no stranger to nightmares, but the ones about Cedric left him shaking and terrified in a way he had never experienced. In those dark hours of morning, when the terror was still palpable, Harry would wish more than ever that he had living parents. He could imagine his mother hugging him while his father regaled him with tales of his Marauder days. He knew that their love could have driven the fear away. The knowledge that they had died for him ached more than ever in those moments just before dawn.

Since the Dursleys would never offer him comfort, Harry found other ways to deal with the nightmares. If there was one thing the graveyard had taught him, it was that he was in no way prepared to face down Voldemort. He knew deep down that if he had been faster, more vigilant, Cedric might still be alive. That knowledge drove him into his studies in a way that would have made even Hermione proud. He reviewed all the texts from his first 4 years of school, paying close attention to details he had missed. He had even asked Hermione to borrow the texts for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. When he had asked, she had also given him her notes which were somehow longer than the books themselves.

Harry had found a new zeal for academics that summer. In past years, he had been too distracted by magical stones, giant snakes, mass-murderers, and death-tournaments to really put his all into his schoolwork. Those distractions combined with his upbringing, had made him an average student. In his early years living at the Dursleys, Harry had been branded as a hooligan and a freak. His primary school teachers were warned about him before he even entered the classroom. If he did well, he was called a cheat. If he raised his hand, he was seen as disrupting class. He learned pretty early that it was better to be mediocre.

When he had first gone to Hogwarts, he had hoped to start doing well in school. Before his first year, he had read his textbooks excitedly up in Dudley’s second bedroom, relishing the freedom from his cupboard. He had read each of the books at least once, fascinated by the fact that magic was real.

His hopes of academic success had been dashed fairly early. That first potions class had brought back too many memories of being despised and singled-out by teachers. He had later learned that the questions Snape asked would have been more appropriate in an NEWT class than in the first-ever potions class. Hermione had only known the answers because she was a bookworm with a near eidetic memory who had gotten her letter a full ten months before he had gotten his. After that class, the humiliation still fresh, Harry had fallen back into his old ways. It wasn’t that he purposely didn’t do well. He would never sabotage himself. He just didn’t try as hard as he could have. This year he was going to change that. He was going to do his best, Snape be damned.

At least he now understood the reason for Snape’s seemingly immediate hatred of him. Sirius had explained the history between Snape and his father in one of the many letters they had exchanged that summer. Harry, realizing early on that Sirius either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell him any news about Voldemort, had simply asked Sirius to tell him all about his parents. What had followed had been an enormous volume of information. Sirius had endless stories to tell. His letters explored his father’s terrible attempts at asking his mother out, James’ struggles with the Animagus transformation, Lily’s potions ability, and how they had all ended up fighting a war just after they left school. In response to one of these letters, Harry had asked if Sirius knew why Snape hated his father so much. The letter Sirius had sent back cleared things up for him.

_Harry,_

_Your father did not have a good relationship with Snape in school at all. They hated each other from the minute they saw each other. Throughout the years, their rivalry got worse and worse. It all came to a head after the incident with Moony and the Whomping Willow. I know you heard about this “prank” in the Shrieking Shack, but I think I need to explain myself._

_I never meant to kill Snape. That, I swear to you. Snape had been following us around for quite a while. He wanted to find out what we did on the full moons. You have to understand that at that time no one knew Remus was a werewolf. Had they known, he likely would have been kicked out of school. That would have destroyed his future. I was already head over heels for Moony at that point and I was an irrational, hormonal teenager. I knew that Snape knew that Remus was a werewolf. How could he not?? Anyone with a lunar calendar (which Snape used extensively for Potions) and a fair bit of intelligence could have figured it out. One day, Snape was making all sorts of jokes about Remus’ “time of the month” and his “animal side,” and I just lost it. I told him exactly where he could go if he wanted to see for himself what Remus was like at his “time of the month.” As soon as I said it, I regretted it. That being said, I honestly didn’t think he would actually go. Who in their right mind would try to go near a werewolf during a full moon??_

_I underestimated Snape. I don’t know what he planned to do when he found Remus, but he went to the Shack that night. Thankfully your Dad figured out what I had told Snape and managed to stop him in time. Once your Dad understood that Snape already knew that Remus was a werewolf and came there to catch him out, James lost it. He was so protective of his friends, you see. It brought out this side of him that was kinda scary. He loathed Snape after that._

_I won’t lie to you Harry; we did not behave well. We treated Snape abominably. We felt justified at the time, but we weren’t. Azkaban didn’t allow me to grow up very much, but after having been out for two years, I have perspective on how we acted. We were cruel to Snape. He was cruel back to us, but after the incident with Moony, James and I ganged up on Snape. It wasn’t right of us to do that. Remus, although he was a prefect, didn’t step in when he should have. He was terrified of Snape for a while during school, petrified that he would tell. I think only Dumbledore stopped him from going to the board of governors. I have tried apologizing to Snape. I have tried to make amends. We have all been through so much since then, I figured it was time to move on. I was greatly mistaken to think that his animosity had diminished at all. I guess I should have known considering that he tried to turn both me and Remus over to the dementors in your third year._

_Your father acted as a bully toward Snape, and that is how Snape remembers him. I won’t deny that James was often arrogant around Snape especially. He was cruel. I want you to understand something though: for all his flaws your father was a good man. He was fiercely protective of his friends and firm in his beliefs. He grew up. War changed him for the better. Your mother changed him for the better. During 6th Year, James stopped hexing Snape except in self-defense, he started working to stop the activities of the Junior Death Eaters who were terrorizing muggle-borns. It was that change that allowed him to be made head-boy in 7th year. Snape only saw your father at his worst. I saw him at his worst and at his best. He was far better than the boy Snape remembers. I don’t want you to think your Dad was a saint because he wasn’t. He was flawed, petty, and so damned young when he died. I can tell you though that he had a good heart. The tendency he had to be an arrogant berk died when he fell in love with Lily. He fought a war. He died for his wife. He died for you. I want you to think of him as human. Don’t forget his flaws but don’t vilify him either. Everyone makes choices, Harry. James chose to get better. He did get better. He became humbler, more understanding, more loving. Remember that he made that choice._

_As for Snape, I don’t know what to tell you. He is on our side, so you can trust him to be loyal to Dumbledore and to the cause. As for him being nice to you, I can make no promises. He cannot let go of his grudge against the boy who terrorized him. That is his problem, not yours. You have done nothing to him. You are not your father. I know I may have seemed to confuse you in the past, but I see more clearly now. You are neither your mother nor your father. You are just Harry. I love you for that. If Snape is cruel to you, let it roll off your back. There are people that love you Harry. Remember that._

_Love,_   
_Snuffles._

That letter had not been easy to read. His immediate reaction to learning that his father had acted like a bully had been disgust. He kept imagining Dudley in place of his father. A leering, jeering, arrogant bastard. Then, he had thought about what Sirius had said. His father had been only a few years out of school when he died. He had changed. If Dudley changed, would Harry forgive him? Harry thought he would. After all, he was 14 right now, and he would hate to be judged by his 14-year-old self his whole life. If Draco Malfoy joined the light side and stopped being such an ass, Harry would forgive him. Maybe it was okay to have dark sides to yourself. Harry himself had them. He had thoughts that were vile. He sometimes wanted to hurt the Dursleys. He sometimes wanted to hurt anyone who had ever called him a liar or a cheat. Sometimes he was cruel, sometimes he was rash, sometimes he was an idiot. Maybe that was okay. As long as he knew that he was those things and worked to change them.

Now that he understood Snape’s hatred of him, he resolved to not let it bother him anymore. He would just be the best damned potion-maker he could, and Snape could change his attitude or not. That firm resolve had led him to discover that he really loved potions. A lot.

He had been cooking for the Dursleys for years, and potions was so like baking it floored him. Once he learned Why ingredients were added, what their properties were, and how they interacted with one another, potions became a source of pure fascination for Harry. There had been ingredient charts at the back of every year’s textbook. They had never been mentioned in class. They held the answer to every question. It was a wonderful feeling to be in control of something, even if it was just his academic life.

Along with his newfound love for potions, he discovered the wonders of Arithmancy. The magical-based math was the foundation for spell-crafting. SPELL-CRAFTING!! He could learn to make his own spells!! Harry spent hours studying Arithmancy. He had loved math in primary school, and magical math was even better. It was the best distraction from his life. Sometimes he imagined that he could design a spell that could protect those around him from the destruction that followed him around. He was a liability. He needed to learn how not to be.

After the nightmare that had woken him, he had decided Arithmancy was the best choice. He had just finished going over Hermione’s notes from a lecture on the importance of the numbers 3 and 7 when his aunt unlocked his door.

“You have ten minutes,” she sneered at him before walking quickly away.

Harry bolted up from his chair and raced to the bathroom down the hall. He relieved himself as quickly as possible then jumped into the shower. The water felt amazing on his stiff muscles. Spending that much time at a desk somehow made him ache more than quidditch practice. Unfortunately, he couldn’t enjoy the heat of the spray for long. He quickly washed his hair and body. Turning the water off, he secured a towel around his waist. Moving to stand in front of the sink he brushed his teeth as thoroughly as possible in the roughly two minutes he had left in the bathroom. Knowing he didn’t have long before his uncle started yelling about freaks in the bathroom, Harry grabbed his old clothes off the tiled floor, flung open the door, and hurried back to his room.

Sure enough, his uncle was outside his door. His mustache quivering menacingly, he pointed at the doorway

“In.”

As directed, Harry trudged into his room. The door slammed behind him, and the locks clicked back into place. Back in his room, Harry let out a sigh and allowed the dirty clothes to fall to the floor.

Unfortunately, this scrambled morning routine had been a daily reality this summer. His confinement had started in the first week of the summer holiday when he had been foolish enough to try listening to the news while hiding under the living room window. His Aunt and Uncle, terrified that the neighbors might have seen him, had reacted with an extreme amount of anger. Not wanting the “freak” to be seen around the neighborhood any more than absolutely necessary, they had seen fit to lock him back in his room. It was like the summer before second year all over again. This time, however, no flying car full of redheads was forthcoming.

At least he was allowed to let Hedwig out. Aunt Petunia had convinced Uncle Vernon that it was better for the bird to be out of the house. Hedwig’s freedom meant that he was able to send letters. It also meant that his truest companion was hardly ever with him that summer. Being locked in that room (he was only let out twice a day to use the bathroom) was torture. He was so alone. The fear sometimes got to him. He had moments, often in the early evening when Hedwig had just gone out, that he was just frozen with terror. He didn’t know what caused it. He would simply feel as if he was back in that graveyard, as if the shadows on the wall were the newly robed figure of Voldemort rising from a bubbling cauldron.

The books and the letters from Sirius were all that was keeping him sane. He had never been gladder that he thought to hide all his books in a rucksack enhanced by an undetectable extension charm. George had happily performed the spell for him when he had asked, not even wanting an explanation. Harry had draped his invisibility cloak over the rucksack and had managed to sneak it and his wand up to his bedroom. While his trunk and broom lay locked away in the cupboard under the stairs, Harry had his wand and his books stowed safely under the floorboard. He never would have survived being locked in his room if he had nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and replay Cedric’s death.

Moving over to his wardrobe, Harry took a minute to examine the physical effects of this never-ending summer. In just his towel, Harry could see just how thin he had become. The Dursleys would push small amounts of food through the cat-flap twice a day but it was not nearly enough for a growing boy of almost fifteen. His body, which seemed to share his tendency toward extreme idiocy, had decided that it was a good time to grow despite the lack of nutrition. Harry guessed he had shot up around 3 inches. He estimated he was now around 5’7. He knew his Dad had been tall, but he could not have chosen a worse time to grow. Frankly, he looked terrible. His ribs and collarbones were much too obvious, and his cheekbones looked like they were trying to pop out of his face. His thinness, combined with his pallor from being stuck inside and the dark circles from nights of disturbed sleep, made him look decidedly ill.

“Some hero you are,” Harry muttered at his reflection before quickly pulling on another set of Dudley’s hand-me-downs. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was just gone 8. His calendar revealed to him that it was July 30, one day until his fifteenth birthday. He settled down at his desk for yet another long day of study. As he worked, he tried not to think about the birthday he would spend locked in this room. Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If I were J.K Rowling, I would be rich. I am not rich; therefore, I am not J.K. Rowling. None of this belongs to me.
> 
> Author’s note: This story is canon up through 4th year but will diverge more and more with time. This fic isn’t intended to be overly dark, but it does treat Harry as the 15-year-old boy he is. He has had a hard life, and this story will reflect that. I want to explore what I feel is a more realistic reaction to the hardships Harry has faced. That being said, I am also going to develop the relationship between Sirius and Harry far more than it was in canon. My Sirius will be saner, and he will put Harry first in a way that canon Sirius wasn’t always able to. Hopefully this will add some much-needed fluff to the story. All that being said, I hope you all like my story. I am an avid reader of fanfiction, but this is the first thing I’ve ever written. I am American, so please forgive anything that is incorrect…I’m doing my best!! I would love reviews, but please be kind!!!


	2. A Very Happy Birthday

It had been a long day. That was the best way Harry could think to describe it. Long and boring. Something about it being a matter of hours until his fifteenth birthday had made the lonely hours feel incredibly long. As the shadows darkened, Harry felt his mood darken as well.

For as long as he could remember, he had stayed up until midnight on his birthday. He remembered long nights in his cupboard, staring at the tiny numbers on his too-big watch, waiting for another year to pass. Sometimes, he had imagined that as a birthday gift, someone would come for him. He had ached for someone, anyone to love him. Those feelings were less intense than they had been when he was young but they were still there. He knew Sirius loved him. He knew too that Hermione and Ron did, though Ron would never say so out loud. In some ways, he was very different from that boy in the cupboard. In other, truer, ways he was much the same. On nights like birthdays and holidays, Harry felt the sting of being an orphan at its sharpest. These were the days that were meant to be filled with the very thing he didn’t have. 

Brushing away these depressing thoughts, Harry turned back to the Ancient Runes notes he was reading. Hermione took the most detailed notes Harry had ever seen. Sometimes he wondered if she was even human. She seemed to be able to move her quill quicker and more neatly than a human being should’ve been able to. He was overcome with a sudden wave of fondness for his friend. Things may be terrible here on Privet Drive, but he had friends. He had amazing friends.

It was with these warm thoughts of friendship that the clock struck midnight. Harry ushered in his birthday with thoughts of love and friendship. He may have been stuck in a dark room with relatives that hated him, but he wasn’t alone. Not really.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a dark shape appeared beyond his window, zooming through the trees. He caught a flash of white and knew that his first friend was flying back to him. Sure enough, Hedwig landed on his windowsill. She preened as he opened the window and drew her inside on his arm. Before he could close the window, he noticed the other owls that had accompanied Hedwig. Pig, who appeared tiny next to the package he was carrying, came racing into the room like a feathery bullet. He was followed more sedately by two other owls who looked to be generic barn owls. How the owls had known to come right at midnight and all together, Harry would never know. If he had to guess, he would say it was magic.

He hurried to untie the packages from each of the birds. The two barn owls took drinks from Hedwig’s water dish before flying back the way they had come. Pig had taken to zooming about Harry’s room like a demented snitch. Harry, not wanting to wake the Dursleys, had no choice but to grab the tiny bird as if he really were a snitch. Pig was not at all fazed by being grabbed. In fact, it seemed to further delight him. Harry, who thought the bird might be clinically insane, simply tossed Pig out his window. Pig quickly gained his bearings, hooting gleefully, before zooming off into the night.

After lovingly stroking Hedwig’s head in thanks, Harry turned to the pile of gifts that had appeared on his bed. He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled the first package into his lap. It was rectangular but quite tall. It felt like books. Harry couldn’t help but grin. Books were just what he needed. He recognized Sirius’ handwriting on the envelope that sat atop the package and hurried to open it.

_Harry,_

_I found these notebooks when I was going through some old stuff. These are all the notes your father took while we were trying to become animagi. Since he was the transfiguration whiz, he’s the one who wrote everything down. I thought you might enjoy them. Since it's illegal and stupidly dangerous to try to become an unregistered Animagus, I know you won’t do it. That being said, if you find yourself with any hypothetical questions about hypothetically learning to transform you can ask me, hypothetically (wink wink)._

_Happy Birthday,_

_Snuffles_

Harry couldn’t help but snort at Sirius’ serious lack of subtlety. Of course he wanted to be an Animagus! It was a link to both his father and Sirius, and it would probably be a great trick to have up his sleeve when he faced Voldemort again. He reverently unwrapped the gift. He stared at the unfamiliar handwriting on the notebooks. It was his father’s. For a moment, Harry could swear his heart stopped. His father had held these books. His father had written these words. Shaking off his reverie, Harry set the stack of notebooks aside to devour later.

He moved on to another package which was also shaped like a book. The letter atop this present was in hand-writing that he recognized from his DADA assignments in 3rd year. This present was from Professor Lupin. Harry carefully opened the envelope and read.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy Birthday! First, let me apologize for my lack of communication over the past year. I was out of the country trying to sway the werewolf packs away from the influence of Voldemort. Unfortunately, this left me in a position where I was not able to write freely. Now that I have returned, I want to help you in any way I can. I loved getting to know you in the year I taught you, and I would like to continue to be a friend to you if you’ll let me._

_I found this book when I was cleaning out an old school trunk. This potions book belonged to your mother. She liked to write advice and new ideas for potions in the margins of her books. I thought you might enjoy learning from her. This book saved my life during OWLs. That’s why she gave it to me. I know she would want you to have it. Use it well._

_All my best,_

_Remus_

Harry couldn’t hold back a smile at his old professor’s words. He was ridiculously glad that his professor had simply been unable to write. Harry had feared that Remus had seen the same thing in him that his relatives did and had decided he wasn’t worth knowing. It also seemed that everyone was out-doing themselves with emotional gifts this year. Harry tore the wrappings off the book. He stared at the worn cover of the book in awe before setting it delicately atop his father’s journals. He had never had so many things from his parents. He felt closer to them than he ever had. It was like being back in front of the Mirror of Erised. He could almost see the image of his family floating in the air before him. He almost reached out to touch his mother’s face before remembering that they were just a dream.

He shook his head to clear away the grief and turned to the next parcel. Again, this one seemed to be a book. The note was very obviously from Hermione.

_Harry,_

_I hope your summer is going alright. I worry about you being left alone with your relatives. At least you have a lot of time to do your summer homework. Have you read my notes yet?? I hope they have enough detail for you. Sometimes I just can’t write everything down in time. Anyway, if you like Arithmancy, you’ll love this book. It’s a bit advanced but I know you’re smarter than you let on. I hope to see you soon._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Typical Hermione. As if her notes weren’t the most detailed notes in the history of Hogwarts. He carefully unwrapped the book. It was _Making Your Own Magic: An Introduction to Spell-Crafting._ Harry beamed at the book. This was exactly what he needed.

The next gift was weirdly lumpy. The scrawled note on top practically screamed Ron.

_Harry,_

_How are you, mate?? Are the muggles treating you alright?? I know Hermione’s sending you a book so I figured you could use something fun for a change. Happy birthday!!_

_Cheers,_

_Ron_

_P.S: George included his gift in with mine. Be careful, it might explode._

Harry chuckled at Ron’s attitude. He opened the package to reveal a hearty collection of wizarding candy. Bertie Bott’s, Chocolate Frogs, and Sugar Quills. The gift was simple, but considering the summer he’d had, food was probably the best gift he could get. Nestled in the pile of candy was a much smaller box which Harry assumed was the aforementioned gift from George. He got a weird fluttery feeling in his chest at the idea that George had gotten him a gift.

He carefully opened the package. There was a tiny scrap of paper inside.

_Harry,_

_I saw this and thought of you._

_Happy Birthday,_

_George._

Harry moved the note aside to reveal a small green stone. It was a simple oval shape and fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. It was cold and smooth to the touch. It had a tiny pamphlet underneath which proclaimed it to be a Stone of Serenity. Harry read that these stones were imbued with a type of calming magic. When squeezed, they released scents that the person in question found comforting. Harry squeezed the stone and was engulfed in the smell of treacle tart, broomstick polish, and what he thought might be the smell of the sky. It did indeed calm him down. In his fascination with the stone, Harry didn’t notice that the stone was the exact same shade of green as his eyes. He set the gift carefully on his desk and was overcome with a sudden rush of gratitude toward everyone who put up with him.

A quick glance at the clock revealed it to be nearly one in the morning. Setting all his gifts carefully on his desk, Harry settled into his bed. He kept the greenstone gripped tightly in his hand. With the scents of calm surrounding him, Harry slept through the night for the first time that summer.


	3. Inauspicious Happenings

The Happiness and peace that Harry had felt on the night of his birthday did not last long. Despite throwing himself headlong into reading his parents’ books, Harry had begun to feel restless. He found himself constantly looking out his window, feeling as though he was being watched. The flashes of paralyzing panic happened more often, and the Stone of Serenity was helping less and less. He felt as if he wanted to run away from his own mind. He wanted nothing more than to think nothing at all.

It didn’t help that the animagus transformation required one to meditate on their inner animal with a perfectly clear mind. His father’s notes had explained that the boys, finding it impossible to keep a mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire month without it falling out or them being caught, had decided to follow the less popular, but equally effective, meditation method. The method was less popular only because it required a lot of mental discipline. It could take months or even years of meditation to discover your inner animal. After that, the process required enough concentration to complete the transformation only using your mind. Just thinking about the process made Harry’s brain feel like a limp noodle. He was determined to become an animagus. He hoped the meditation would become easier. It was nearly impossible right now. He couldn’t keep his eyes closed for longer than a minute before he would panic. He hoped that going back to Hogwarts would help things a bit.

He had better luck with his mum’s book. She had clearly been a very insightful potion-maker. Her changes to the written potions were clever, and her new potions were delightful. There was one that, in concert with a charm, would turn a lily into a goldfish and back again when the lily was soaked in the potion. Harry had never heard of anything quite so beautiful. He could imagine his mother setting a tiny white flower into a little fish bowl and watching it turn into an equally tiny fish. He wished he could have seen her face the first time the potion worked.

Harry was so grateful for the books, but he couldn’t ignore the emotions they brought up. He had gone years without grieving for his parents. It was just so hard to think about them after having seen them in the graveyard. Their ghosts had spoken to him. It had brought the loss back all over again.

Harry spent three days trying to drown himself in the books. He read his father’s journals, his mother’s potions book, and Hermione’s gift on spell-crafting. No matter how much he read, he couldn’t escape the feeling of dread. He took to pacing about his bedroom at all hours. He needed to get out of this room. He needed to go outside.

It seemed that Aunt Petunia had sensed his need to get out because in the late afternoon of August 2 she unlocked his door and told him to go outside for a while.

“You’re beginning to make Dudders nervous with your pacing. Get out of the house. Be back before dark or you’ll regret it.”

Harry wasted no time in shoving on his trainers and bounding down the stairs. He pulled open the door and raced into the fresh air. It was horribly hot but Harry had never felt better. He felt like a child as he broke into a run. He raced down the street toward the park. It felt so good to run again.

When he arrived at the park he sat down on one of the swings. It was peaceful here. He shoved his feet back and forth a bit, picking up speed. As he began to lift off the ground, Harry felt truly free for the first time since returning to Privet Drive. Merlin, he loved flying. It was the best feeling in the world.

“Hey Potter! Trying to fly away from your problems??”

A jeering voice broke him from his reverie. He scuffed his feet on the ground until he stopped. He stood up and turned to face his cousin and his gang of thugs.

“Well Dudders, at least I can get myself off the ground,” Harry retorted, relishing the look of shock that momentarily flashed across Dudley’s face.

Dudley, not wanting to appear weak in front of his gang, stalked toward Harry. Grabbing Harry by the collar, he shook him hard.

“Take it back,” Dudley hissed

“No, I don’t think I will,” Harry said in a slightly sing-song voice. He didn’t care how bad of an idea it was. He loved messing with Dudley.

Just as Dudley appeared about ready to punch him, the heat seemed to have been suddenly sucked from the world. It became ice-cold in the blink of an eye. The sky grew dark far too quickly to be natural. Menacing dark clouds loomed on the edge of the sky. The members of Dudley’s gang, who seemed to sense the evil that approached, took off running. Dudley looked at Harry accusingly

“Whatever you’re doing you’d better stop! I’ll tell Dad!”

Harry, knowing that they had to get out here, told Dudley the truth.

“I’m not doing anything but we need to run!! NOW!!”

Dudley, displaying a shocking amount of common sense for him, did as he was told and took off running behind Harry. They had just made it to an underpass when two black-cloaked figures descended upon them. The cold was bone-deep. As the dementors drew closer, the voices started. The horrors of his past reached out to drown him.

“Kill the Spare”

Flashes of green light invaded his vision. His breath was coming too fast. Where was the air?? He couldn’t breathe.

“Not Harry”

His mother’s voice, another person who had died for him. Because of him. The dementor came closer. He wondered what would happen if he let it suck out his soul. Just end it all now. He could be free of this world. Did soulless wraiths get to see their parents in the afterlife??

“Worthless Freak”

He really was a freak wasn’t he?? Maybe he should let it all end now. Remove himself so he could stop being a burden to others. But, then there was Dudley. Dudley would die if he didn’t intervene. Dudley had a family. Harry wouldn’t let another set of parents lose a child because of him.

His sudden resolve to save a family was enough to break the dementor’s spell. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the stick of holly. Thinking of Sirius, Harry shouted,

“Expecto Patronum.”

The brilliant white stag burst from his wand. It drove off the dementor closest to him then galloped toward the dementor that was bent over Dudley. As the dementors disappeared, Harry felt the air regain its warmth. The sky lightened back up. What did not go away was the feeling of despair that Harry felt wrapped around him like a blanket.

Struggling to ignore the feeling that he might never be happy again, Harry dragged himself over to Dudley’s prone form. Stuffing his wand back into his pocket, Harry bent down to his cousin. Dudley was muttering under his breath and appeared slightly cross-eyed. At least he hadn’t been kissed. Just as Harry managed to pull Dudley into a standing position, Mrs. Figg rounded the corner.

Harry was just about to start pretending that this was a perfectly ordinary situation when Mrs. Figg exclaimed

“Keep your wand out! They may not be as gone as you think!”

All Harry could do was gape at her. Why did Mrs. Figg, his old babysitter, know about wands??

As they walked back to the house, some of Harry’s questions were answered only to leave him with so many more. There had been people watching him all summer. Mrs. Figg knew about magic but hadn’t told him in all the years she knew him. She had let him believe he was the child of two drunks. She had lied to him. Dumbledore told her to lie to him. Harry felt confused. He felt betrayed. He still felt the dementors all around him.

The Dursleys pulled him from his thoughts quickly enough. As soon as he entered the living room with a comatose Dudley, all hell broke loose. When Dudley indicated that Harry had been the one to cause his condition, Uncle Vernon did something he hadn’t done in years: he hauled off and punched Harry. Hard. The blow caught Harry totally off guard. He stumbled backward and slammed his back into the staircase railing.

The subsequent owls proclaiming Harry’s expulsion then “un-expulsion” and disciplinary hearing did not help his uncle’s temper any. Growling fiercely, Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry’s bicep in a vice-like grip and practically dragged him up the stairs. He shoved Harry’s door open before throwing his nephew through the door and onto the floor. Ignoring Harry’s gasp of pain as he slammed into his wardrobe, Vernon slammed the door on his nephew and locked him in.

Harry lay on the floor gasping for breath. He felt simultaneously empty of emotion and full of despair. He wondered if maybe the dementors had got his soul after all. He thought maybe it would have been better if they had.


	4. Rescued

The days following the dementor attack were among the worst Harry had ever spent on Privet Drive. Despite having choked down several chocolate frogs, Harry felt the chilling despair of the dementors for days afterward. Compounding his bad mood was the fact that he was once again locked in his bedroom. This time, however, his loving relatives had decided that he didn’t need to be fed. Water was still grudgingly pushed through the door several times a day but no food was forthcoming. Harry had never been more grateful that Ron liked to send him sweets for his birthday.

Harry had never felt more alone. He hadn’t received a single letter since the night of the attack. No one asked how he was. Not even Sirius. He wondered if the people who were watching him knew that he was locked in his room without food. He wondered if they cared.

Even his new studying habit couldn’t distract him from the dread. He was going to be tried for underaged magic. He might be expelled. Without Hogwarts, Harry was nothing. He had nowhere else to go.

Harry lost time during those days. He felt unmoored. There were times when hours would pass as he simply lay on his bed watching the shadows lengthen. He found himself forgetting to eat, forgetting to drink the water that was shoved through his door. He felt that if it had been possible to forget how to breathe, he would have forgotten that too.

On August 5th, the monotony of Harry’s day was broken by a pounding on his door.

“Boy!”

His uncle’s voice sounded from the other side of the door.

“We’re going out tonight. Petunia’s won a lawn competition. No funny business while we’re gone.”

Without waiting for a reply, Vernon trundled off down the stairs. Harry heard the door slamming shut and the car revving. He was alone.

He couldn’t help but hope that he was going to be rescued. A lawn competition sounded like such a ridiculous notion. It seemed like something Sirius would make up. Or maybe Dumbledore. The man did have a weird sense of humor.

Sure enough, not half an hour later Harry heard voices downstairs. He supposed that they might be Death Eaters. If they were, there wasn’t much he could do about it so he stayed sitting on his bed in the dark. The only indication of his apprehension was the 11 inches of holly clutched tightly in his right hand.

He just barely heard a muttered “alohomora” before his door swung open. Standing in the doorway, illuminated by wandlight, were Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, a young witch with painfully-bright pink hair, and a tall black man with an earring.

“Wotcher Harry!” the pink-haired witch said excitedly.

“I’ve been dying to meet you since my cousin told me about you. I’m Tonks by the way. This is Kingsley Shacklebolt,” The black man inclined his head.

“And of course you know Remus and Mad-Eye. Don’t worry. He’s the real one this time. We checked.”

Harry could only gape at the new arrival. How someone could be so bubbly, Harry didn’t know. She was like a taller, female Dobby. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t been around people in over a month, or maybe it was because he was an awkward disaster but all Harry could manage was a choked “Hi.”

“Not much of a smooth talker are you?” Tonks said with a cheeky wink.

“Where’s your school stuff Harry?” Remus asked suddenly, looking around his bare room with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s in the cupboard under the stairs.” Harry said as casually as he could.

“Not enough room in here, you see.” It wasn’t his smoothest excuse, but it worked in a pinch.

“Ok, we’ll go get your trunk while you gather anything you need in here.”

Remus’ words were spoken kindly but he had an odd, calculating look on his face. As soon as they left the room Harry grabbed his rucksack and invisibility cloak from under the floorboard. He quickly packed away the books and notes he had been using that day. That done, he grabbed a sweatshirt from his wardrobe and pulled it on. The low light of evening could conceal a lot, but once he was downstairs under the harsh kitchen lights, he knew there would be questions. He couldn’t do anything about the bruise on his face. It was large and ugly, covering most of his left cheekbone with its purple and yellow colors. What he could hide were the bruises on his arms from being grabbed. The oversized sweatshirt would help hide that and some of the weight he had lost. It wouldn’t hide everything but it might allow him to get away with claiming he was recovering from a nasty flu. The bruise he would attribute to Dudley. As long as no one asked too many questions, everything would be fine.

The rational part of Harry’s brain knew that he didn’t need to hide the results of his Uncle’s anger from these people. Unfortunately, that part of Harry’s brain was silenced by the part that still feared rejection and judgment. He was ashamed. What kind of wizard was beaten up by a fat muggle?? Certainly not the savior of the Wizarding World. He couldn’t shake the fear that if people knew that his relatives hated him, they would start to see how truly horrible he was. And so, Harry would hide behind the mask that all was well because that was what he had always done.

It turned out that Remus Lupin was far too observant to fall for his tricks. As soon as Harry stepped into the living room to join the others, Remus gave him the sharpest look Harry had ever seen.

“Where’d that bruise come from, Harry?” Remus asked. His voice was level and calm but Harry could detect the anger underneath.

“Oh, just fighting with Dudley,” Harry said as dismissively as he could.

Remus did not look at all convinced but he seemed to decide that this wasn’t the place. Although he stayed silent, Harry could feel Remus’ eyes boring into him as Mad-Eye beckoned them all together.

“Listen up you lot!” Mad-Eye growled.

“We’re going to be apparating a few blocks away from Headquarters. Remus, you’ll side-along with Potter. I still can’t believe that old codger wanted us to fly on broomsticks. Bloody stupid idea."

At Harry’s confused look, Remus leaned down and whispered

“He means Dumbledore. He wanted us to fly you out to reduce the chances of being tracked magically. Mad-Eye told Dumbledore that he was an idiot to forget that using your eyes was also a means of tracking. A group of people flying on broomsticks would stick out like a sore thumb and would take hours. We’ll be apparating just a few blocks from our final destination.”

Although the image of anyone calling Dumbledore an idiot was quite amusing, Harry’s curiosity prevented him from dwelling on it. What did Remus mean by final destination?? The Headquarters of what?? He couldn’t hold back his questions.

“Where are we g-?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, Harry.” Remus cut him off with a raised hand.

They made their way into the front garden, Kingsley and Tonks carrying Harry’s trunk and broomstick respectively. Hedwig was out hunting but she would find him wherever he went. Once they were all safely on the front lawn, Remus extended his arm to Harry.

“Hold on tight. This is your first time apparating so it won’t be pleasant I’m afraid.”

Harry did as he was told and grabbed onto Remus’ arm. The world twisted. He felt like his body was being simultaneously squeezed through a pipe and spun like a top. When it stopped, it took Harry a moment to understand which way was up. He felt very dizzy for several minutes. Only Remus’ grip on his arm kept him upright.

“Easy there, Harry.” Remus soothed.

It turned out that three days living on the occasional Green Apple Sugar Quill was not at all conducive to successful apparition. When he could finally stand on his own, he registered that all five of them were standing in a clump of trees in what appeared to be a muggle neighborhood.

“Where…?”

“Shut up and walk, Potter.” Mad-Eye interrupted him. His magical eye swiveling around wildly,

“You can never know who might be listening.”

The small group walked for several minutes. They were silent except for Mad-Eye’s mutterings about constant vigilance and foolish rescue missions. At last they arrived in front of two houses numbered 11 and 13.

“Here Harry, read this,” Remus said as he pushed a piece of paper into Harry’s hands.

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place._

“But there is no number twel…”

Harry stopped talking as a house, which he could have sworn had not been there a second ago, materialized between numbers 11 and 13. Harry couldn’t help but smile at what magic could do. Even after 4 years in the wizarding world, he was awed by magic.

His wonder was short-lived as he began to really look at the house. It had harsh gothic architecture: dark windows and menacing stone. The door was complete with a serpent door knocker. Harry wondered briefly if this was the work of a Death Eater turned decorator. That hilarious image fled from his mind as Mad-Eye pushed the heavy black door open and ushered them all inside.

The first thing Harry noticed when he crossed the threshold was that the house felt evil. Evil and familiar. Familiar in a way that made him think of the Chamber of Secrets and the cruel face of a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. He shook off the feeling. It was probably just the serpent door knocker getting to him. He allowed the door to swing shut behind him, trying to ignore the tugging sensation in his scar.


	5. Questions and Reunions

The inside of Number 12 Grimmauld Place was just as foreboding as the outside. Peeling wallpaper and moth-eaten tapestries gave the place a decidedly creepy air. Worst of all was the line of house-elf heads hung decoratively on the wall. This place had a profound darkness about it.

“Admiring my childhood home, Harry?” a familiar voice called from a door to his right.

Harry turned to see his godfather, Sirius Black, standing in the doorway. Sirius looked much better than the last time Harry had seen him. His face had lost its gauntness and his grey eyes sparkled with barely suppressed mischief.

Sirius strode forward and pulled Harry into a tight hug, resting his head on top of Harry’s for just a moment. It wasn’t until then that Harry realized how much he’d missed being around people who actually liked him. Just this small amount of human contact left Harry feeling far better than he had in months.

Sirius pulled back and seemed to take in Harry’s appearance for the first time. His eyes tracked over the bruise on his face and the dark circles under his eyes. Sirius exchanged a meaningful look with Remus, who was standing just behind Harry, but said nothing.

An excited cry of “Harry Dear!!” was all the warning Harry got before being engulfed in one of Mrs. Weasley’s famous hugs. She pulled back from him and cupped his cheek with her hand.

“You’re looking terribly pale, dear. And thin. We’ll have to fatten you up a bit while you’re here. I’m afraid dinner won’t be for a while yet though, the meeting’s just about to start.”

“What meeting??” Harry asked, knowing he very likely wouldn't receive an answer.

“Don’t worry about all that. Just head on upstairs. Ron and Hermione have been just dying to see you. They’re just one flight up. First door on your left. Go on, dear.”

Recognizing this as the dismissal it was, Harry trudged up the stairs. He didn’t really understand why no one would tell him anything. He understood that he was young, but that hadn’t stopped him from ending up in that graveyard. Being young hadn’t protected Cedric at all. Maybe Ron and Hermione would be able to tell him something more about this house and about whatever the Order of the Phoenix was.

Then again, Ron and Hermione had been here without him, and they hadn’t seen fit to tell him anything either. He wasn’t really angry with them. The rage he had felt in the early weeks of the summer at the lack of news had faded into self-doubt and hurt. Did Ron and Hermione finally understand that he was a liability? Had they finally realized that he was the reason Cedric was dead, and that they might be next? As Harry reached the top of the stairs and turned left he steeled himself to find out the answer.

He had barely opened the door when he was pulled into an incredibly tight hug by Hermione. She was squeezing him so tightly he couldn’t breathe.

“-ermione,” He choked out.

“Can’t breathe…”

“Oh!” she exclaimed and released him.

“Oh Harry, you look just awful.”

“Oi, You can’t just say stuff like that to a bloke, Hermione,” Ron chimed in.

Then, he took a long look at Harry.

“Although to be fair, you do look pretty terrible.”

“Wow, I’m so incredibly flattered. If you must know, I’ve been ill.”

“I don’t see how being ill could leave a bruise like that though, Harry,” Hermione said, her brown eyes full of concern as they flicked to his cheek.

Harry had just opened his mouth to defend himself when two loud cracks split the air. The Weasley twins appeared in the middle of the room. Fred, upon spotting Harry, began to fake sob. He crossed the room and scooped Harry into his arms.

“Oh Harrikins, it has been far too long. I haven’t smiled since the last time I saw you!! I’ve been practically wasting away in my grief!”

Harry grinned at Fred’s antics and glanced over at George who was still standing in the middle of the room, staring at Harry with a weird look on his face. Harry tried to smile at him but couldn’t quite manage it.

Harry had always been able to tell the Weasley twins apart. He attributed it to never having the proper prescription for his glasses. He had learned young to focus on more than just appearances. He wasn’t fooled by the twins' nearly-identical looks. He heard the differences in their voices, in the way they walked. George’s voice was just the slightest bit deeper, he was just a bit taller, he walked while Fred practically bounced. George was also the more serious twin. He was so observant that he sometimes scared Harry a bit. He had always seen right through Harry. That was why Harry couldn’t find it in himself to smile. He knew George wouldn’t buy it anyway.

“Yeah, Harry. It has been too long,” George said, locking his eyes with Harry’s for just a second before quickly glancing away.

“Well,” Fred said, rubbing his hands together in excitement,

“What are we talking about??”

Harry couldn’t keep it in anymore. He wanted to know what was going on.

“I want to know where we are. What is this place? What is the Order of the Phoenix? Why won’t anyone tell me anything? Why didn’t you all tell me you were together? Why have you kept things from me?”

Harry couldn’t stop his voice from breaking slightly as he asked that final question. As soon as he had finished speaking, Hermione burst into tears.

“Oh, Harry. We didn’t mean to keep a-anything from y-you. It’s j-just that Dumbledore m-made us swear n-not to tell you anything.”

Harry let that sink in. Dumbledore again. Why did Dumbledore not want him informed? What had he done to deserve this? Did Dumbledore blame Harry for bringing Voldemort back? Is that why he was keeping him in the dark?

Ron, who appeared very unsure of how to react to Hermione’s tears, spoke up.

“As for this place, it’s Sirius’ old house. It’s also serving as Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix which is a secret society working to stop You-Know-Who. Dumbledore founded it during the last war. Beyond that, we don’t know much of anything. We’re really sorry we couldn’t tell you anything, mate. You haven’t missed much. We’ve been cleaning mostly. At first, we tried to spy on the meetings, but they caught onto us right quick.”

After he finished speaking, Ron gave Harry such an earnest look of regret that all of Harry’s fears disappeared. Ron was truly sorry that he hadn’t been able to tell Harry anything. Hermione was in tears because she thought she had hurt him. Harry’s friends still cared about him. They still wanted him around.

“It’s okay,” Harry said.

“I understand.”

He did understand. It was Dumbledore who no longer trusted him, not his friends. He needed to work harder. He needed to show Dumbledore that he could be trusted.

“Enough of this serious nonsense. Brother Dear, why don’t you tell them about the prank we pulled on Percy last week,” Fred said gleefully.

“Oh yes,” George grinned.

“Everyone gather around.”

All five teenagers ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor. Hermione looked exasperated at the prospect of rehashing a prank, but she seemed willing to listen for Harry’s sake. She knew how much he loved listening to the twins’ prank stories.

Once they were all settled, George began his tale.

“Well, last week we sent him a cursed quill. It was addressed to him from Cornelius Fudge himself. Every time he writes his name, it spells traitor instead. I bet he’s sent loads of letters out like that. Serves him right, the git.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry interjected.

“What did he do?”

An awkward silence descended on the room.

“You see, Harry,” George said hesitantly.

“He doesn’t believe that You-Know-Who is back. He agrees with the Ministry’s official position which is that you are an unbalanced liar and Dumbledore’s using you in an attempt to cause a panic and get the Minister’s job.” George said this incredibly quickly. It was almost as if he was trying to run away from the truth of his words.

Harry felt his heart stop. He hadn’t been reading the Daily Prophet this summer.

“They really think that??” Harry croaked.

“Not everyone,” Ron said hurriedly.

“There are loads of people who believe you and Dumbledore. It’s just that with the Prophet printing lies about you all the time, it’s hard for people to know what to believe.”

“So, people think that I’m lying about Voldemort returning. For what? Attention?”

“I think that’s exactly what they think, Harry,” Hermione said quietly.

“And they think that Cedric just dropped dead of his own accord? They think he just...that he wasn’t...that…”

Harry felt the panic returning. He couldn’t talk about this. Not yet.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said quietly, moving to wrap her arms around him.

“It’ll be okay.”

In that moment, surrounded by his friends, Harry almost believed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry has been reunited with his friends at last!! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, or left Kudos! Y'all make my day :)


	6. Words Left Unsaid

The group of friends spent the next hour and a half catching up on the summer’s events and discussing the upcoming school year. Ginny had joined them shortly after the twins had arrived, drawn to the room by their voices. The contrast between Hermione, who was already nearly apoplectic about the OWLs, and the twins, who had almost forgotten it was their NEWT year, was hilarious to Harry. He knew that the twins were brilliant, they just didn’t like spending time on their studies when they could be experimenting. 

Growing bored with talk of academics, Ron proceeded to offer his customary commentary on the Chudley Cannons. Although they had finished last in the league, Ron assured them all that their year was coming. Harry thought that Ron should pick another team to support, especially considering how awful the orange colors looked with his red hair. Ginny seemed to agree, telling Ron in no uncertain terms that he was a fool to support a team that hadn’t caught a single snitch in the last 3 years. 

Their conversation about the relative merit of quidditch teams was interrupted by a knocking on the door. It was Sirius. 

“All right, you lot. Downstairs for dinner.”

As the others left the room, Sirius hung back, clearly waiting for Harry. 

“Hey kid, I know you have questions but try not to ask them around Molly, alright? It makes her nervous. After dinner I have something to show you, and we’ll talk then, ok?”

Sirius was going to talk to him. He might finally get some answers. 

“Sure, Sirius. That sounds good.” 

“Excellent. Now, why don’t you tell me your opinion of this house. Lovely place isn’t it??”

As they walked downstairs together, Harry relished this time alone with Sirius. His godfather always seemed to know exactly what Harry needed. He knew when to be a mature adult and when to be mischievous. 

As the two entered the dining room, Harry couldn’t help but be amazed by the amount of food Mrs. Weasley had made. The long table was groaning under dishes of shepherd’s pie, vegetables, bread rolls, and treacle tart. She had clearly made all of Harry’s favorite dishes. The thought warmed him. It felt like family. 

The table was packed with people. Tonks was sitting with Ginny and Hermione near the center of the table while Mr. Weasley and Bill were deep in conversation with Mad-Eye and Kingsley at the end closest to the door. The twins were sitting at the far end of the table with Remus and appeared to be interrogating him about something. Sirius walked over and slid into the seat beside Remus. Harry followed, plopping himself down in the empty seat Fred and George had left between them. 

It wasn’t unusual for Fred and George to sandwich him like this. They had done it on the morning of his first quidditch match, seeming to sense that he needed support. Their muscled bodies gave him the illusion of being shielded from the world. It reminded him strangely of his cupboard which, despite its cramped space and darkness, had been a place of refuge from a world that seemed to despise him. The twins must have known that they helped him because they had sat on either side of him on the morning of every quidditch match since. 

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about them doing it now. He had thought he had done a better job of pretending. He didn’t want anyone to think he was weak. What right did he have to be sad? Cedric’s parents were allowed to grieve. Cho Chang was allowed to grieve. Harry, who had caused Cedric’s death, who had brought back Voldemort with his own blood, what right had he to be anything other than fine? 

Dinner was a blur. Harry was vaguely aware of conversations going on around him. He tried his best to eat but his stomach protested the heavy food. He ended up focusing on the vegetables, choking down as many as he could. His detached thoughts allowed him to ignore the sharp looks he was getting from Sirius, Remus, and both twins. He did, however, once make the mistake of looking at Mrs. Weasley. She was looking at him like she wanted to march over and force-feed him. Thankfully, she didn’t. 

Harry knew eating would get easier. It would just take him a few days before he could manage the portions he should be eating. It wasn’t like he appreciated being this skinny. If he didn’t gain at least a little weight before going back to Hogwarts he ran the risk of being blown right off his broom during quidditch practice. Malfoy would never let him forget it if that happened. 

Lost in his thoughts as he was, Harry barely noticed the passage of time. It wasn’t until he heard the clanking of dishes being cleared that it dawned on him that dinner was over. He glanced at Sirius, remembering that his godfather had wanted to show him something. Sirius caught his eye and gestured for Harry to follow him. 

As Sirius led Harry up to the second floor, Harry noticed that he seemed nervous. His godfather finally stopped in front of a door that, unlike most of the others in the house, had been painted in a coat of fresh white paint. It wasn’t the paint that stood out to Harry though. It was the name painted on the door in gold lettering: Harry. 

Harry whipped his head around to stare at his godfather. Sirius was looking back at him with a sad smile on his lips.

“I know I promised you a home in your third year. I can’t tell you how much I wish I could’ve fulfilled that promise then. I can’t offer you a proper home but I wanted you to have something. I’ve been working on this room for quite a while. You deserve to have a room of your own in my house.” 

Sirius reached around Harry and pushed the door open. 

“If you don’t like it, I’ll understand. We can change anything you want.” 

Harry couldn’t reply. He couldn’t find his breath. 

He was standing in the most beautiful bedroom he had ever seen. There was a full bed with a red and gold patterned duvet. The fuzzy carpet on the dark wooden floor was a bright pastel yellow. The walls were covered in quidditch posters, pictures of Harry’s friends, and even a Gryffindor flag. There was a desk, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a bookshelf. The bookshelf was full of books. The desk had an inkwell and a stack of parchment standing at the ready. It was perfect. 

“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” Sirius said nervously. 

“Like it? Like it??” Harry exclaimed incredulously 

“It’s brilliant, Sirius. It’s just brilliant.” 

Sirius beamed at him. Harry could tell that Sirius had put a lot of time and energy into this room. For a boy who had lived in a cupboard for ten years, this was heaven. 

“That’s not all,” Sirius said as he strode over to the wardrobe.

“Your friends told me that you wear your cousin’s hand-me-downs. Since he’s about three times your size, I thought it was time you had some proper clothes.” 

Sirius opened the wardrobe to reveal rows of hanging clothes. 

“There’s more in the chest of drawers, it’s mostly basic stuff since I didn’t know what you liked. It should all fit but if it doesn’t we can…”

Sirius was cut off as Harry attacked him with a hug. Harry didn’t normally initiate contact but this was an exception. He felt like his heart might burst with gratitude.

“Whoa, try not to kill your poor old godfather,” Sirius griped, failing to conceal the emotion in his voice. 

“There’s just one more thing. Sit down.” 

Sirius sat down on the edge of the bed and gestured for Harry to join him. 

“I couldn’t help but notice that your glasses have seen better days.” 

Harry snorted. That was an understatement. These glasses were held together by Spellotape and wishes. 

“I thought you might want these.” 

Sirius pulled a black case from his pocket. Opening it, he revealed a pair of circular glasses much like Harry’s own but framed with delicate gold wire instead of chunky black plastic.

“These were your father’s. The prescription is charmed to match your eyesight, and they’ll stay on your face unless you want them off. They’re also nearly indestructible. It’s a lot of really complex charm work. Your father loved them because it meant he didn’t have to wear quidditch goggles. He thought they messed up his hair which I never understood because his hair always looked like birds had just attacked him. Anyway, Dumbledore had them. I guess he collected them from your old house after, well…”

Harry was barely listening to Sirius so entranced was he with the glasses. He reached out a trembling hand to pick them up. Sliding off his old frames, he placed his father’s on his nose. The world immediately came into sharper focus. The details that had once been fuzzy were now defined and crisp. 

“There now. Don’t you look handsome,” Sirius said teasingly. 

“Those really let your eyes shine through.”

After several moments of comfortable silence, Sirius took in a deep breath and grew more somber. 

“I wanted to talk to you, Harry, because I don’t think you’re as fine as you want people to think you are. Anyone can see that you don’t look well. I can tell you haven’t been sleeping, and you look like you’ve barely eaten since you left Hogwarts.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Sirius cut him off. 

“It’s okay, Harry. You went through something terrible at the end of last year. It’s alright for you to feel anxious or scared. You don’t have to pretend with me.” 

All Harry could do was shake his head back and forth. Sirius was wrong. He was fine. He HAD to be fine. He owed it to Cedric. To his parents. He couldn’t afford to be weak. 

Sirius sighed heavily. 

“I won’t press you, Harry. Just know that I’m here if you want to talk. About anything at all. Whether it’s about OWLs or how you really got that bruise on your face.” 

Harry looked up at Sirius, horrified. What did he know??

“I have my fair share of experience with less-than-ideal family situations, Harry. You can tell me anything, I won’t judge. I’ll probably understand better than you’d think.” 

Harry so wanted to tell him. It would be so easy to just let the words pour out. To tell Sirius everything. He almost did. He almost let go. 

It was in vain. 

No matter how much he willed them to, the words just wouldn’t come. All he could do was nod in understanding. 

Seeming to sense that Harry was not going to talk about this, Sirius changed the subject. 

“I know you have questions about Voldemort. I want you to understand something, Harry. You are a child. I know it doesn’t feel like it. I know you’ve been through terrible things. For me, that’s even more reason to keep you out of this war for as long as possible. I want you to take this time of your life to be a teenager. I want you to focus on quidditch, your OWLs, and your friends. This time is so precious. I do understand that you’re in a rather unique position, so I’ll make you a promise. If at any time I feel there is information you need to know, I’ll tell you. Whether I like it or not, I won’t keep you in the dark. Can you accept that, Harry? Can you trust me??”

With anyone else, Harry wouldn’t have agreed. He would never have allowed someone to keep information from him like this. But he trusted Sirius. Almost more than he trusted himself. 

“Yes, I trust you.” 

Sirius smiled at him. 

“I think it’s time you got some rest, Harry. Merlin knows you need it. Tomorrow, Remus is going to help you start preparing for your hearing but for now, you need to sleep. You look like hell.” 

With that blunt remark, Sirius stood. Planting a kiss on Harry’s forehead, he left the room. 

Now that Harry was alone, he was once again hyper-aware of the strange feeling in his scar. It had faded to a dull thrum while they were downstairs but now, on the second floor, it had seemingly tripled in magnitude. He felt like someone was tugging on a thread attached to his forehead. It didn’t exactly hurt but it certainly wasn’t comfortable. 

His scar had hurt before, but never like this. He tried to distract himself by unpacking his rucksack and placing his books and notes into the drawers of his desk. It felt so good to have his schoolwork out in the open. He placed the folder full of his completed summer assignments proudly in the middle of the desk. He knew they were well done, and he was glad to be able to display them openly. 

Just as he was debating which book he would read before bed, there was a knock on his door. 

“Come in,” He said, slightly confused at who would be visiting him at this hour. 

The door inched open to reveal George. He slipped into the room and stopped a few feet from Harry. 

“You seemed distant during dinner.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

“I’m fine, George.” 

Harry didn’t mean for it to come out so harshly, but he was just so tired of this. He was FINE. People needed to mind their own business. 

“I know you want me to think that. I know you’ve made yourself believe it.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that.

“I’ll be here. When you stop lying to yourself.”

The words were harsh but George said them so quietly, they felt like a promise. 

“Those glasses suit you,” George whispered. 

“They make your eyes look...so green. Almost unreal.” 

With that, George turned and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

Harry watched him go with a strange feeling in his chest. He didn’t know why, but he wished George had stayed. 

Shaking off the feeling, Harry moved to the chest of drawers to find a pair of pajamas. He found a pair of blue ones patterned with what looked to be tiny broomsticks. He chuckled a bit at Sirius’ taste. They were slightly large but he knew they would fit him perfectly once he was able to eat properly again. 

He folded Dudley’s old clothes back into his trunk, knowing he would need them next summer. After locating the bathroom and readying himself for bed, Harry settled into his new bed. It was incredibly soft. So much like a cloud that Harry suspected magic was involved. He settled under the duvet with his Divination book. 

He had always thought Divination useless, but he now realized that impression was entirely Professor Trelawney’s doing. Tea leaves and Palmistry were unreliable, but when astronomy was combined with magical arithmetic, predicting the future was possible, just difficult. You couldn’t tell what the winning lottery numbers would be, but you could get a general sense for the outcome of events. Harry, curious to try his hand at a bit of retroactive Divination, plugged in the proper numbers to compute the general outlook of August 2, the day the dementor’s attacked. Using his birthday, his height, the coded numbers for his wand’s wood and core, the date, and the relative positions of the planets on the day in question and their positions on the day he was born, Harry was able to calculate a General Outlook Number for the day. After a long and gnarly equation, he was left with the number 13. 

General Outlook Numbers were the most general kind of arithmetic Divination. They allowed one to get an idea of how a day would go without knowing exactly what would happen. They were sort of like a muggle horoscope, but much more accurate. They ranged from 1 to 100. A zero meant you were dead. 100 would be the best day possible. Ideal.  
13 was pretty terrible. The number 13 indicated that the cause of his fortune would be magical as was usually the case for multiples of 7 and 13. Harry grinned to himself. 13 sounded about right. 

Harry knew he could plug in the numbers for his hearing, he could find out a general idea of how things would go. He didn’t. Not because he didn’t want to know but because there was nothing he could do to change it. What was the point of knowing bad news was coming if all you could do was sit and wait for it to come??

It was with his mind full of an uncertain future that Harry finally fell asleep, trying desperately to ignore the throbbing in his scar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love writing the relationship between Sirius and Harry! I always wanted them to be closer than they were in canon...Harry deserves a father figure!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has read, commented, or left Kudos! I love you guys :)


	7. A Great and Terrible Evil

_The room was drab and bare._

_The windows were small. The light, too weak to drive away the shadows, left indistinct shapes on the floor. He liked to take refuge here. It was a good place to think. Away from the other children. They were too noisy. Too mundane. He was made of better stuff than they. He would show them all. They would pay._

_The scene faded as images swam into focus, flicking by like a film on fast-forward._

_A ring with a black stone._

_A golden cup._

_A heavy silver locket carved with a decidedly serpentine “S.”_

_Emotions came along with the images: loneliness, despair, and anger. SO much anger…_

Harry jerked awake, sweaty and trembling. He had no idea what that dream was. 

What was he seeing? They felt like memories, but they certainly weren’t his.

He could still feel the overwhelming anger. It was burning under his skin without cause or cure. There was no way he was going to get any more sleep tonight. A quick glance at the clock revealed it to be just before 5 in the morning. 

To pass the time until he could move about the house without waking everyone, Harry pulled his Divination book back toward him. He flipped to the chapter on dream interpretation. He needed to understand what had just happened. 

Nearly an hour of careful reading and calculating left him with nothing. He found that snakes could signify danger or healing, rings were a sign of commitment or challenge, and a locket could symbolize something hidden or taboo. None of that was particularly helpful. Worse, he could find nothing about what could have caused such intense, foreign, emotion. 

Noticing that it was finally a reasonable time to be awake, Harry got ready for the day. He selected a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved blue t-shirt from the new clothes Sirius had given him. He brought the change of clothes with him to the bathroom. He couldn’t risk walking about the house in just a towel. Not with the bruises on his arms. 

After a quick shower, Harry dressed and brushed his teeth. He attempted to brush his hair but quickly gave it up as a lost cause. Even when wet his hair was a menace. 

Heading back to his room, Harry put his pajamas back in the chest of drawers and made his bed. Something about the room being his made him want to keep it pristine. 

Harry grabbed his spell-crafting book and headed downstairs. He didn’t think anyone else would be awake yet, and he was unwilling to waste time that could be spent growing his knowledge. 

To his surprise, the dining room was occupied. Remus was sitting at the far end, looking slightly disheveled, and drinking a large mug of coffee. He was reading from a thick tome, but looked up as Harry entered, offering him a warm smile. 

“Good morning, Harry. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough, thanks. You?”

“Alright. I’ve always been an early riser. Would you like some coffee?”

Harry nodded and took the mug Remus poured for him. He didn’t mind the taste of coffee and considering how little sleep he was managing, he needed the caffeine. 

“What are you reading?” Harry asked, looking curiously at the book. 

“It’s a book of wizarding law, for your trial. I’ve always been a legal enthusiast. I would have gone into the legal profession if it weren’t for my condition. No one wants a werewolf as their lawyer.” 

Harry felt anger rise up in him. It wasn’t fair that Remus couldn’t do what he wanted. He was a good man. 

“You’ve got a very solid case. They have no grounds on which to expel you. None at all.” 

“Really?” Harry said excitedly. 

“Really. They can’t get you on the Statute of Secrecy because the only Muggle who saw you cast the spell was your cousin. He’s immediate family and was already aware of magic. The Ministry keeps a registry of Muggles who know about magic, like the family of Muggle-borns or those who marry a Witch or Wizard, so they are fully aware that your cousin knows about magic. It’s a nonissue. Fortunately for us, they can’t get you on underage sorcery either. Even if there hadn’t been dementors there, you couldn’t be expelled. Here, read this.” 

Remus slid the book toward Harry, indicating the top of the page. 

_Violations of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery are assessed using a strike-based system. The first and second offenses result in an official warning. After the third offense, the underage wizard may be called to a disciplinary hearing where they will be assessed for possible expulsion. Notably, instances of accidental magic and magic used in self-defense do not count as strikes._

Once Harry looked up from the page, Remus continued speaking. 

“Fudge has already overstepped by calling you in for a hearing on a second offense. He will likely try to argue that the incident with your aunt wasn’t accidental. He won’t succeed. Fudge may have some of the Wizengamot in his pocket but most are decent enough. They know this is a political stunt.” 

Harry thought for a moment. It sounded like he wouldn’t be expelled either way, but he still wanted people to know that the dementors had been there. Maybe it would help convince people that Voldemort was back. 

“How can I convince them that the dementors were really there? I know it shouldn’t matter for the expulsion because it’s only my second offense, but I don’t like being thought of as a liar!” 

“Don’t worry, there is a way. You’ll request the use of Veritaserum. Do you know what that is?” 

Harry, remembering Snape threatening him with it last year, nodded. 

“You are fully entitled to ask for it. There’s a standardized list of questions for cases like these where the goal is to decide whether the underage magic was used in self-defense. They’ll be primarily yes or no questions. The rest of the gallery will be under a silencing charm while the questions are asked. Amelia Bones will likely be the one asking the questions. She’s the head of the DMLE and a dedicated civil servant. She won’t abuse the potion.”

Although Harry really didn’t like the idea of being forced to answer questions under the influence of truth serum, he trusted that Remus’ advice was for the best. 

Harry suddenly had a thought.

“Remus, why didn’t they use Veritaserum with Sirius? Wouldn’t that have shown them the truth?”

Remus suddenly looked very sad.

“It was war. They didn’t always follow the proper protocols, especially not with suspected Death Eaters. They also claimed he confessed. The deck was stacked against him from the beginning.”

Harry could feel his excitement growing. 

“If we could get him a trial though, we wouldn’t even need Pettigrew! Or, I could say he was innocent under Veritaserum at my hearing! He could finally be free!”

Remus’ expression got even more somber as he watched Harry. 

“I’m afraid it would never work, Harry”

“But why? We could…”

“They’d set the dementors on him right away. He’s an escaped prisoner to them. A murderer. A Death Eater. And Veritaserum only works if you are asked directly about a subject. Amelia Bones has no reason to ask about Sirius. In fact, she would be penalized for deviating from the prescribed questions. I’m sorry, Harry. We need Pettigrew. Without him there won’t be anything to stop the Ministry from immediately giving Sirius the Kiss.” 

Harry let that sink in. He wanted Sirius free so badly it hurt. He made a vow in that moment: the next time he saw Pettigrew, the rat wouldn’t be getting away. 

Harry and Remus spent nearly an hour going over the questions he would be asked. The hearing may be nearly a week away, but Harry was happy they were preparing now. Having a plan helped take the edge off his nerves. As they were finishing up, the rest of the household began to filter in. Mrs. Weasley headed straight to the kitchen, whipping her wand through the air in practiced shapes as she set about making breakfast. The other teenagers in the house trickled in, followed closely by Mr. Weasley and Bill. Harry was slightly surprised to find himself once again sandwiched between Fred and George. Ron and Hermione were sitting next to Fred on Harry’s right. They seemed pretty absorbed in a whispered conversation about something. Harry just hoped they weren’t talking about him. Hermione was far too observant for her own good, and she wasn’t likely to let things go. Harry loved that she cared how he was doing, but he wasn’t ready to talk just yet. 

Unsurprisingly, Sirius was the last to arrive. His godfather was the farthest thing from a morning person Harry had ever seen. 

Harry watched as Remus gave Sirius a chaste kiss and pressed a mug of coffee into his hands. Something about the domesticity of the scene made Harry weirdly gleeful. 

He remembered when he had first found out that Sirius and Remus were a couple. It had been in a letter from Sirius during his fourth year. At first, Harry had been very confused. 

The Dursleys, Uncle Vernon especially, had always been adamant that love was only between a man and a woman. When Harry had awkwardly asked Ron why Sirius was so open about his relationship with Remus, Ron had given him a very odd look. It was only after Hermione had explained the phenomenon of homophobia that Ron understood Harry’s confusion. 

“That’s a stupid thing to get upset over, isn’t it? Why should anyone else have a say in who you love? You don’t think it’s wrong do you Harry?”

“No, of course not,” Harry said quickly. 

“I just didn’t know if people thought it was okay. That’s all.”

“Of course it’s okay, Harry. It doesn’t matter what anyone says. If you love someone, it doesn’t matter who they are,” Hermione reassured. 

“As long as it’s not Malfoy!” Ron said. 

“No,” Hermione agreed. 

“Unless he stops being a blood-supremacist and a bully, he’s off-limits.” 

Harry felt a smile split his face at the memory. He still wasn’t exactly sure why the knowledge that the Wizarding World was so accepting of different sexual orientations made him so happy. It was probably just because he was glad Sirius and Remus could openly be together. 

“You look happy this morning,” Sirius said slyly. 

“Is there something you wish to share?”

“Nothing, Sirius. I’m just laughing at your hair.”

Sirius gasped in mock offense. Fred, on the other hand, let out a cackle. 

“You? Laugh at someone’s hair?” He asked incredulously. 

“I hate to break it to you, Harry, but your hair is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“Maybe so. He wears it well though,” George defended. 

Harry, although he knew he should be affronted on behalf of his poor hair, felt himself blushing instead. He didn’t know why George complimenting his hair would make him blush. There was no earthly reason for it. 

After breakfast, the group of teens was ushered up the stairs by Mrs. Weasley to begin cleaning one of the many disgusting rooms in Grimmauld Place. They had barely made it past the landing when Ginny tripped on Ron’s untied shoelace. At the sound of her hitting the stairs, a woman’s shrill screaming filled the air. 

“FILTHY HALF BREEDS AND MUDBLOODS DISGRACING THE HOUSE OF BLACK! YOU BESMIRCH THE NAME OF WIZARD WITH YOUR FOUL AND TAINTED BLOOD!” 

Harry wasn’t usually one to startle at sudden noises but for some reason the screaming reminded him of the way Mr. Diggory had screamed when he had first seen Cedric’s body. Harry felt his heart beginning to race. His palms grew slick with sweat, and he found it hard to draw in enough oxygen. 

Thankfully, as suddenly as the screaming had begun, it stopped. Sirius had been on the stairs behind them and had just drawn the curtains back over the portrait Harry surmised must have been the source of the noise. As the screaming faded, Harry felt a measure of his calm returning. 

“Sorry about that, Harry,” Sirius said. 

“I forgot to warn you about my mother’s portrait. She screams bloody murder anytime one of us makes too much noise. She put a permanent sticking charm on the back of the frame so we can’t take it down. Just be glad our old House-elf is gone. I gave him clothes before the Order took up residence here. He was untrustworthy as they come. My bitch of a mother loved him though.” 

Surprisingly, neither Hermione nor Mrs. Weasley reprimanded Sirius for his language. Harry guessed they must have felt that Mrs. Black deserved the title. 

Harry couldn’t believe Sirius was forced to hear his mother scream those things at him. He imagined it would be like having a talking portrait of Aunt Petunia hanging on his wall. Forever. He couldn’t help but shudder at the thought. 

Harry wondered how a sticking charm could be permanent. There must be a way to undo it. He resolved then and there to get that portrait off the wall. He owed it to Sirius. 

Thankfully, the group made it up to the drawing room on the third floor without further incident. As they rose up through the house, Harry felt the tugging in his scar increase until it was almost painful. He felt like he was being drawn toward something. Whatever it was, he needed to get to it. 

Harry barely paid attention as they worked to spray the Doxies. He didn’t even notice Fred and George stuffing the tiny, stunned creatures into their pockets. He felt dizzy. His vision kept shifting. It was like he was seeing through two sets of eyes. He sprayed the Doxies mechanically, barely noticing the passage of time. 

What felt like 5 minutes had in actuality been almost 4 hours. As the others headed down for lunch, Harry hung back. The tugging drew him toward a cabinet in the corner. He opened the doors. 

There, on the middle shelf was a heavy silver locket.

It was the locket from his dream.

Harry traced his finger along the raised “S.” The metal, which should have been cold, felt enticingly warm on his fingertip. It was beautiful. As he touched it, the tugging in his scar finally stopped. 

Looking back, Harry wouldn’t understand why he did what he did next. He wouldn’t understand why he forgot every warning he had ever heard about unknown magical objects. 

All Harry knew was that the locket felt like a piece of him. Even the evil sliminess about the locket didn’t deter him. It reminded Harry of how he sometimes felt. Harry wrapped his hand around the locket and picked it up. Placing it in his pocket, he headed down the stairs to join the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry is now in possession of a Horcrux (not that he knows it). Things are gonna get interesting!! 
> 
> Thank u to everyone who has read, commented, or left Kudos! I love hearing from everyone!


	8. The Disciplinary Hearing

The week leading up to Harry’s hearing was a blur. His time was divided between helping clean the many squalid rooms of Grimmauld Place, spending time with his friends and Sirius, and doing research on how to break the sticking charm on Mrs. Black’s portrait. 

Harry had discovered the library on his third day at Grimmauld Place, and he now spent as much time in there as he could. Hermione would often join him. Her mere presence offering comfort. 

Along with his research into sticking spells, Harry found himself spending hours poring over obscure potions texts. He couldn’t wait to get back to Hogwarts and try out his new knowledge in an actual lab. He thought Snape might just die of shock. 

During the day, Harry felt almost content. He was able to put on a smile as he cleaned, laugh at the twins’ jokes, and keep a straight face as he watched Ron try (and fail) to pretend he wasn’t into Hermione. 

Harry’s nights, on the other hand, were hell. When he was alone, he could no longer keep the panic at bay. Reading his books and using the Stone of Serenity sometimes helped, but he still found himself reliving the events of June far more often than he wanted. 

To make matters worse, the strange dreams continued to disturb any sleep that wasn’t filled with Cedric’s dead eyes. The dreams had only grown more vivid since he’d found the locket. The images were those of blood, chaos, and carnage. The emotions the dreams provoked turned exclusively to murderous rage and a kind of profound incompleteness that was physically painful to experience. Harry would wake from these dreams with splitting pains in his chest and head. 

Somewhere deep down, Harry knew something was wrong. He knew that whatever this locket was, he shouldn’t have it. Despite these concerns, Harry simply needed to have the locket close. Since he had picked it up, he hadn’t been able to be away from it for long without experiencing pain and dizziness. He found that he was able to leave it in his room during the day only if he wore it at night. The speed with which he had become dependent on the necklace should have been terrifying. Somehow, it wasn’t. Harry felt strangely numb to his concerns. The necklace felt so much like home, it couldn’t possibly be that bad. 

Once, on the day before his hearing, Harry found a moment of clarity. He tried to tell Sirius about the locket and the dreams. When he opened his mouth to speak, however, nothing came out. He physically couldn’t tell Sirius about the locket. Something stopped him. 

The locket’s ethereal whisperings helped calm his worries. He was just overreacting. Everything was fine. 

At last, the morning of his hearing arrived. 

Harry had managed barely an hour of nightmare-filled sleep. He had so much nervous energy he feared he might shake apart. 

After putting on the suit Mrs. Weasley had laid out for him, choking down a piece of dry toast, and attempting to tame his hair, Harry left with Mr. Weasley for the Ministry of Magic. 

They had originally planned to take Muggle transportation, but Remus had shot down that idea. It was far more dangerous to be out in the open, he pointed out, than it was to just apparate. 

Apparate they did. 

Harry didn’t like it any better the second time. 

He was so nervous that he wasn’t even aware of his surroundings until he heard Mr. Weasley’s panicked pronouncement that the time and location of his hearing had been changed. 

Although he understood Mr. Weasley’s panic, Harry was pleased by this development. Fudge was playing right into his hands. 

Remus and Harry had come up with two goals they hoped to achieve through this hearing. First, and most importantly, they wanted to get Harry cleared. Second, they wanted to undermine Fudge as much as they could. Showing that Fudge was acting irrationally could only help them convince people that Voldemort was back. Changing the time and location of the hearing at the last moment was the act of a desperate man. Harry could use that to his advantage. 

After a mad dash through the Ministry, they finally arrived at the door of Courtroom 10. 

“I’m afraid I’m not allowed in,” Mr. Weasley said gravely. 

“You’ll be fine, Harry.”

Harry was grateful for Mr. Weasley’s confidence and offered him a faint smile before he turned and walked into the courtroom. 

Harry very nearly lost his composure when he saw the inside of the Courtroom. The scene was eerily similar to the courtroom he had seen in Dumbledore’s Pensieve the year before. He had to actively remind himself that there was absolutely no chance of him ending up in Azkaban today. 

He walked shakily over to the chair in the center of the room, warily eying the chains wrapped around the chair’s arms. Sitting down carefully, Harry let out a sigh of relief when all the chains did was rattle slightly.

His entrance finally seemed to have dawned on the rest of the court. The purple-clad members of the Wizengamot ceased their chattering and turned toward him. 

“You’re late,” Minister Fudge said, looking decidedly smug. 

“I was unaware that the time of my hearing had been changed,” Harry replied evenly, trying to sound respectful even though he didn’t feel it. 

“Nonsense. We sent word.”

“If you did, I certainly didn’t receive it.”

Fudge smirked down at Harry. 

“Are you suggesting that we would fail to follow procedure?”

Harry had a hard time understanding how this man had become Minister of Magic. 

“It would hardly be the first time you have violated procedure in this case, Minister.”

Harry ignored the sudden outbreak of whispering and continued speaking, trying his best to refrain from directly insulting Fudge. 

“I am here today being tried for underage magic, something that is only ever brought before the Wizengamot on the third offense. This is only my second. Furthermore, I am being accused of violating the Statute of Secrecy when the only Muggle who saw my Patronus Charm was my cousin. He has lived with me for the past 14 years and is very much aware of magic. You, of course, already knew this. He is officially registered as a Magic-Aware Muggle, after all. Finally, the letter I received after I performed the charm was not the official warning for a second offense it should have been. It was, instead, a letter informing me of my expulsion. The Ministry has no right to expel a Hogwarts student without first giving them a platform to defend themselves. So, yes, I am accusing you of violating procedure.”

At his speech, the Wizengamot had fallen completely silent. Fudge had turned bright red with rage while the witch in pink sitting next to him was looking at Harry like she wanted to grind him beneath her heel. Another witch with gray hair and a monocle was rapidly flipping through a file full of parchment, a frown on her face. Harry assumed this was Amelia Bones. 

“It seems your accusations are correct, Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley, please note down that I will be taking over the interrogation in this case due to the apparent bias and/or gross negligence of the Minister.” 

At the name Weasley, Harry looked around and noticed that Percy Weasley was sitting in the corner of the room, taking notes. 

“Now see here, Amelia. This boy has…”

“No, you see here Cornelius. The proper protocols must be followed. I do not believe you are capable of handling this in an objective manner. I have every right to take over this hearing. I am, after all, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Minister or not, you do not have ultimate authority in this case. That power rests with me.” 

Fudge, looking furious, seemed to have no reply to give. Harry had to hold back a smile. He was glad he wasn’t the only one who thought Fudge was an idiot. 

Madame Bones turned back to Harry. 

“Now, Mr. Potter. This is your second offense, so you will certainly not be expelled today. You are still entitled to protest the charges on the grounds of self-defense. Would you like to lodge such a protest?”

“Yes ma’am. Is it possible for me to contest my first offense as well as my second??” 

Madame Bones frowned slightly, but nodded. 

“Yes, that is permissible. Could you explain why the offenses should be viewed as self-defense?”

“The first offense, the Hover Charm, wasn’t me at all. It was a House-elf named Dobby. As for the Patronus charm, I cast that because two Dementors attacked me and my cousin.”

“Come now,” Fudge interrupted. 

“Surely you don’t expect us to believe that? This is hardly the first tall tale you have concocted, after all.”

“Fortunately for all of us, Minister, it doesn’t matter what you believe. The truth will come out whether you like it or not. I would like to request the use of Veritaserum.” 

Harry cursed himself slightly after that comment. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so scathing. He knew it probably wasn’t wise to so clearly show his disdain for the Minister of Magic, but Fudge made it so damn hard to be respectful. 

Fudge had not missed the tone of Harry’s response and had turned an even darker shade of red. The witch next to him was glaring at Harry so hard he thought he might burst into flames at any second. Before Fudge could make a response to Harry’s insult, Madame Bones nodded and waved her hand at an Auror who had been standing by the door of the Courtroom. She moved so she was standing just in front of Harry. 

“Mr. Weasley, please note that Mr. Potter has requested the use of Veritaserum. Auror Langley will administer the Veritaserum and place the rest of the gallery under a silencing spell so that Mr. Potter cannot hear any questions they might ask.”

The Auror, Langley, waved his wand in front of the gallery, uttering a spell Harry couldn’t quite catch. Harry could see the bubble of silencing magic settling over the Wizengamot. Only Madame Bones and the Auror were left free of it.

Auror Langley pulled a small green bottle from inside his robes and approached Harry with it. 

“You’ll feel a bit fuzzy in the head while you’re under the influence of the potion. Don’t worry, that’s expected. I’ll have the antidote ready for you as soon as the questioning is over. Do you have any questions?” 

Harry shook his head and opened his mouth when Auror Langley instructed him to do so. The Auror carefully let three drops of the potion drip into Harry’s mouth. 

As the Auror had warned, Harry felt slightly fuzzy. Like his brain was wrapped in cotton. 

“We’ll start with a few test questions. What is your full name?”

“Harry James Potter.”

The answer flowed from his tongue like water. He had no control over his words. 

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“What is your date of birth?”

“July 31, 1980.”

“Very good. We’ll go over your offenses in chronological order. Did you perform a Hover Charm on July 31, 1992?”

Wow. He had almost forgotten that Dobby had shown up on his birthday. Even while he was contemplating when he could see Dobby again, the potion forced the answer from his lips. 

“No”

“Who performed it, then?”

“A House-elf. His name is Dobby.” 

Madame Bones nodded, making a note on one of the pieces of parchment in the file she still held.

“Moving on to the second offense. Did you perform a Patronus Charm on August 2, 1995?”

“Yes”

“Was it a corporeal Patronus?”

“Yes”

Madame Bones’ eyebrows went up at his answer. 

“What form does it take?”

Harry remembered Remus saying that further details about the spells performed were under the purview of these hearings. He assumed Madame Bones was just curious. He doubted this had anything to do with his case.

“It’s a stag.”

Madame Bones nodded, looking intrigued.

“Why did you perform the spell?”

“My cousin Dudley and I were being attacked by Dementors. If I hadn’t cast the spell, we would have both been kissed.” 

Madame Bones seemed satisfied with his answers and gave a nod to Auror Langley who quickly administered the antidote.

Harry felt clarity returning to him as the antidote took effect. Auror Langley released the silencing spell as Madame Bones turned to address the rest of the Wizengamot. 

“Considering the testimony we have just heard, I can only recommend that Mr. Potter be cleared of all charges. Neither one of his offenses are valid strikes under the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery. I would encourage my colleagues to keep this in mind as we vote. All those in favor of conviction?”

To Harry’s relief only Fudge, the woman in pink, and a few others raised their hands. 

“Those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?” 

Many more hands rose this time. A clear majority.

“Cleared of all charges,” Madame Bones said, slamming her file of parchment shut with an air of finality. Then, she turned to Harry. 

“Mr. Potter, I want to apologize on behalf of this court for dragging you here today. Rest assured both the Hover Charm and the Patronus will be expunged from your record. You are free to go.” 

Offering her a weak smile, Harry stood from the chair and walked from the room on shaking legs. Upon seeing him, Mr. Weasley, who had been sitting on a bench just outside the door, jumped to his feet. Despite his earlier confidence, he now looked quite anxious. 

“Cleared of all charges,” Harry reassured him. 

“Oh, thank Merlin! I knew they would acquit you of course, but it’s a relief nonetheless,” Mr. Weasley exclaimed, a huge smile looking right at home on his kind face. 

“Now that this is all sorted, let’s head back. The others are probably going mad with worry.”

The others were, in fact, going mad with worry. 

They were all in the dining room when Harry and Mr. Weasley arrived back at Grimmauld Place. Strangely enough, Professor Dumbledore was there as well. 

As soon as Mr. Weasley announced the results of the hearing, Dumbledore left. He didn’t seem to be particularly happy about the news. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t look at Harry once. 

Even the chanting of “HE GOT OFF! HE GOT OFF! HE GOT OFF!” couldn’t erase the hurt of Dumbledore’s disregard. Maybe Dumbledore had been disappointed that he hadn’t been expelled. He probably didn’t want such a liability around the other students. Harry couldn’t really blame him if that was the case. Cedric certainly would have been safer if Harry never went to Hogwarts. Harry knew he was dangerous to be around. He was like a disease, infecting those around him. That was why he had to work harder, train harder. He wouldn’t let anyone else die because of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry just can't stop himself from sassing the Minister of Magic...kid's got an attitude ;) 
> 
> Thank u to everyone who has read, commented, or left Kudos! I love hearing from everyone!


	9. Battling Mrs. Black

The next two weeks at Grimmauld Place flew by. As the day when he would return to Hogwarts drew nearer, Harry was growing increasingly frantic in his search for a way to remove Mrs. Black’s portrait. He absolutely refused to leave Sirius in this house with that foul woman still on his wall. 

Fairly early in his search, Harry had come to the conclusion that no existing spell would work to remove the portrait. It had likely been an original spell that had been used to stick it to the wall in the first place. With that discovery in mind, Harry set about crafting his first original spell. 

Before he’d known anything about Arithmancy or Spell-Crafting, Harry had foolishly assumed that creating an original spell was as simple as picking out some Latin words, creating a wand movement, and thinking really hard about what you wanted. He couldn’t have been more mistaken. 

There was a reason most Witches and Wizards never attempted to create their own spells. The process was incredibly complex, tedious, and time-consuming. Most people felt that the reward simply wasn’t worth the effort. 

Harry, however, was not most people. There was something about the process of starting from nothing and solving a problem that he found thrilling. He loved piecing together information in order to find a solution. It was why he had loved mathematics as a child. It was why he couldn’t resist involving himself in the mysteries that popped up every year. He loved puzzles. The more tedious and difficult they were, the more he enjoyed them. These traits gave Harry the ideal mind-set for spell creation. Where most people would loathe the amount of arithmetic, trial-and-error, and uncertainty that went along with the process, Harry found himself enthralled with the challenge posed by creating a new spell. 

Harry may have enjoyed the process of developing the new spell, but it certainly wasn’t easy for him. Undoing a spell was even more difficult than just inventing an independent spell because you had to take into account the Magical Structure of both the old spell and the new. 

Magical Structure was the key to spell-crafting. Every spell had a Magical Structure. The structures were representations of the way the magic flowed, the intent of the magic, and the way the spell was meant to interact with outside objects. The Magical Structure of a spell could be calculated through a series of equations that relied on the spell’s incantation. Most thought that the incantation created the magic, but it was actually the other way around. The incantation was dependent on the Magical Structure. When someone created a spell, they would first design the magical structure, inputting very specific numbers to describe the intent, flow, and external interactions. Only after that was done could they create an incantation. The number of syllables, letters, and words in the incantation had to be arithmetically compatible with the spell’s Magical Structure. That was why so much of the Latin in spells was incorrect. The spell-crafter would start from pure Latin but would be forced to alter the language to fit the spell’s Magical Structure. 

The incantation was essential to a spell’s performance even for those using non-verbal magic because it helped channel the Magical Structure of the spell in the right way. Any stray thought in your head while attempting to cast non-verbally would likely be incompatible with the structure of the spell. That was why non-verbal spell casters had to maintain all their focus on the spell’s incantation in order to be successful. The wand movement and any emotions necessary for casting the spell (such as happiness for a Patronus or anger for a Cruciatus) also helped to properly channel the Magical Structure. 

Crafting a spell that counter-acted another spell was even more difficult because you had to design a Magical Structure that perfectly counteracted the Magical Structure of the spell you had to undo. Then, you had to develop an incantation that was compatible with your new Magical Structure AND that of the original spell. 

If that wasn’t difficult enough, Harry was at a distinct disadvantage because he didn’t know the incantation of the spell Mrs. Black had used. When he had first discovered that he didn’t know the incantation, Harry had almost given up the project as a lost cause. It was only after reading a passage from an obscure text on magical theory that Harry found the solution to his problem. The book had explained that in rare cases, those with above-average magical power could learn something called Spell Sensing. The book had explained that Spell Sensing was possible by focusing one’s magic and extending it out into the physical plane. If the individual had enough power and openness, they would be able to experience the Magical Structure of any spell. 

Harry didn’t consider himself to be extremely powerful, but he hoped he might be powerful enough to attempt Spell Sensing. Early one morning, before anyone else was awake, Harry had crept down to the landing in front of Mrs. Black’s portrait. He had tried to imagine the sensation he felt in his chest whenever he cast with his wand. He had felt nothing. 

Just as he was about to give up completely, Harry felt it: his magic. It was a warm thrum throughout his body, almost like a second heartbeat. Harry focused on the feeling and imagined projecting the sensation out toward Mrs. Black’s portrait. 

Harry had expected the process of Spell Sensing to produce an image of the magic. He was wrong. Instead of seeing the Magical Structure of Mrs. Black’s spell, Harry could HEAR it. It was like an orchestra, the different pieces of the spell layering atop one another to produce a cohesive whole that nevertheless had distinct parts. 

Harry didn’t know how long he stood there with his eyes closed, just listening. The spell may have had malicious intent behind it but the music it produced was exhilarating. Harry didn’t understand why, but as he listened to the music of the spell, he began to hear the incantation. It was like a ghostly choir had joined the orchestra. Their voices began distant and incoherent but slowly and surely they became clear:

_Meta et Permanens Monitus_

_Meta et Permanens Monitus_

_Meta et Permanens Monitus_

He had it! The spell loosely translated to “a permanent reminder.” Harry could only guess that Mrs. Black had wanted to remind Sirius of her disappointment and loathing. What a foul woman. 

With the spell successfully discovered, Harry now had all the pieces he needed to develop a spell to remove the portrait. He plugged the incantation into the proper equations and was able to get a mathematical representation of the Magical Structure. With that done, he developed a Magical Structure that perfectly de-activated Mrs. Black’s. Harry thought the process was likely similar to the chemical equations he had seen Dudley struggling over for his summer Chemistry assignment. His goal was to design a structure that would render Mrs. Black’s spell inert. 

After he had managed to create a satisfactory Magical Structure, Harry began the task of developing an incantation. With the help of his Latin dictionary, Harry tried to come up with an incantation that would properly channel the Magical Structure he had designed. He felt very much like an idiot as he used his fingers to count the syllables of different combinations of increasingly incorrect Latin words. Finally, after many failed attempts, Harry had produced an incantation that, if he had done all his math properly, would remove the portrait: _Delere Permanatum, Extermina Malum._

Unfortunately, because it was currently three in the morning, Harry would have to wait until the next day to test the spell. Also unfortunately, he couldn’t perform the magic himself. The last thing he needed right now was to get another warning for underage magic. Because he wanted to really surprise Sirius, there was only one person he trusted enough to help him do this without giving away the game: George. 

The next morning after breakfast, Harry approached George as subtly as possible. 

“Hey George, can you help me with something?” He whispered

“Of course, Harry. Why all the secrecy though?” George whispered back, a dangerous glint of mischief in his brown eyes. 

“I’m trying to surprise Sirius with something. I made a spell that should get Mrs. Black’s portrait off the wall, but I can’t perform the magic myself.” 

“Hold on. Are you telling me that you CREATED a spell in the time we’ve been here?” 

Harry was confused. Hadn’t he just said that?

“Yes. It was hard, but I really wanted to help Sirius.”

George was looking at Harry like he really was an idiot. 

“You really don’t understand what you just did, do you? If the spell you created really works, we’re talking about really impressive magic. Beyond NEWT-level magic, even!” 

Harry was a bit shocked, none of the spell-crafting books had mentioned anything about when people usually started crafting spells. 

“I didn’t know that. I just wanted to help.”

George shook his head in fond exasperation. 

“You never cease to amaze me, Harry. You do things the rest of us can’t even dream of doing, and then you just blow it off like it’s no big deal. If this works, you should be so proud! Heck, I’m already proud of you! Even if it doesn’t work, it’s huge to even attempt something like this!”

George’s excitement was contagious. Although Harry didn’t think what he had done was all that special, he was glad he had made George proud. 

“I’ll be glad to do the spell, of course. There’s an Order meeting tonight. We should do it then.” 

Waiting until the Order meeting was torture. When it finally started, Harry and George made their excuses and left the others in the library. Harry would have told Hermione, Ron, and Ginny if he thought they could keep it secret. Even Fred wasn’t safe. He and George had a bad habit of giving each other mischievous looks when they were pranking. Sirius was no fool. If they didn’t keep all the signs of excitement off their faces, he would see right through them. Pranking a Marauder was no easy feat. 

Harry and George crept down to the landing that housed Mrs. Black’s portrait. George drew his wand and cast a silencing spell over the portrait. It wouldn’t hold back Mrs. Black’s screams for more than a few minutes, so they had to move fast. They opened the curtains, watching Mrs. Black’s mouth move as she silently berated them. George ran his wand up and down the portrait as Harry had instructed. 

“ _Delere Permanatum, Extermina Malum. Delere Permanatum, Extermina Malum. Delere Permanatum, Extermina Malum.”_

After the third pass of George’s wand, the portrait fell from the wall. Harry leapt forward and caught it just before it hit the ground. 

The spell had worked perfectly. Not only had it removed the portrait from the wall, but it had also deactivated the spells that kept Mrs. Black animated. She was now perfectly still. She could pass for a Muggle portrait. Harry had hoped for this result when he had written the spell. It translated as “Remove what is permanent. Erase what is evil.” By targeting the malicious intent as well as the permanence of the painting, he had ended all the spells on Mrs. Black’s portrait. 

Harry and George carefully carried the painting up to Harry’s room where they would prepare for phase two of the plan. Once they were safely hidden behind his door, Harry laid the painting on his bed and gathered up all the copies of the Daily Prophet he had been able to find around the house, many of which had pictures of his own face on them. 

Together, using the newspapers and a copious amount of Spellotape, Harry and George clumsily wrapped the portrait. They had even managed to find a ribbon which George tied around the parcel before charming it to run through the colors of the rainbow in rapid succession. 

The final important part of their plan was Hedwig. This part of the plan should be fairly simple, Harry knew his owl was smart enough to complete her assignment. George cast a feather-light charm on the package before Harry tied it to Hedwig’s leg. 

“This is for Sirius,” Harry whispered to his beloved owl. 

“I know he’s in the same house as us, but I need you to pretend that you’re coming from somewhere else, ok??”

Hedwig bobbed her head up and down in agreement. 

“We also need to change your color. Don’t worry, it’s only temporary.”

George waved his wand over Hedwig, turning her feathers from bright white to a dull brown. 

Harry had never seen a bird look more offended. 

Harry took Hedwig to the window and released her into the crisp night air. Everything was ready. 

Their plan went into effect after dinner. 

Everyone had just finished eating when there was a tapping at the window. It was the disguised Hedwig. Mrs. Weasley opened the window, and Hedwig soared straight to Sirius. Looking confused, Sirius untied the parcel from her leg. 

“Who’s that from?” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve no idea. It can’t be anything dangerous though, or it never would have made it past the wards.”

Harry and George exchanged a victorious glance. They had really wanted to send the portrait anonymously, but they hadn’t wanted anyone to think it was a potential threat. They had assumed, and rightly so, that the wards would have redirected any dangerous mail. This meant that Sirius, despite not knowing who had sent the package, had no reason not to open it. 

Sirius tore open the wrapping. His face twisted with confusion, then elation, then confusion again. 

“What the hell? How is this possible??”

Sirius held up the portrait so the rest of the table could see. Everyone broke out in confused chattering. Almost as one, they rushed up the stairs to the closed curtains that had once concealed Mrs. Black’s painting. 

Sirius ripped the curtains aside to reveal a blank wall with a note taped to it. The note had only two words on it: “mischief managed.”

“Sweet Merlin,” Sirius whispered. 

“Who? How? What?” 

Harry almost couldn’t hold back his laughter as he watched Sirius try to figure out what the hell had happened. Harry was glad when George finally interceded, likely saving his poor godfather from an aneurysm. 

“Well, Sirius,” George said playfully. 

“It turns out that your godson is rather skilled at spell-crafting.”

Sirius turned toward Harry

“Is that true, Harry? Did you do this?”

Harry nodded, trying and failing not to blush as everyone’s eyes turned toward him. Sirius practically flew toward Harry, engulfing him in the tightest hug Harry had ever experienced. 

“I can’t thank you enough for this Harry. I don’t know what I could’ve possibly done to deserve someone like you in my life.” 

Overcome with happiness, Harry smiled at George over Sirius’ shoulder. They were both thinking the same thing: best prank ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was mostly fluff and contained a treatise on Spell-Crafting that literally no one asked for, but I just couldn't help myself! Spell-Crafting is going to play a fairly important role in this story, so I needed to explain why everyone doesn't just create their own spells all the time. Harry was only able to do it so quickly because he was really motivated, he doesn't sleep very much, and he's got a mind for problem-solving. I also wanted to give Harry some happy times in between his hearing and his return to Hogwarts. Things are going to go downhill pretty quickly for him when he returns to Hogwarts (coming in Chapter 11) so I wanted to give him some good memories to fall back on. Thanks for reading!!


	10. Badges and Boggarts

It was the very next morning, August 28th, that the Hogwarts letters finally arrived. Remus explained that the delay was due to Dumbledore’s inability to find a suitable Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry was hardly surprised. Considering what the last four teachers had experienced (in order: death, obliviation, being outed as a werewolf, and spending a year locked in their own trunk) it was hardly surprising that no one wanted the position. 

Harry had heard rumors since his first year that the position was cursed. If that was true, it must be possible to break the Curse in a similar way to how he had removed the spell on Mrs. Black’s portrait. It might be far more difficult, but it was surely possible. Harry resolved to try using his newfound ability to Spell Sense when he got back to Hogwarts. Maybe he would be able to hear the Curse in the same way he had heard Mrs. Black’s spell. If so, he might be able to develop a Counter Curse. If the teacher was anything like Quirrell or Lockhart, however, Harry might just let the Curse do its thing. 

Along with the booklists came two shiny Prefect badges. One for Ron and one for Hermione.

Despite being truly happy for both his friends, the choice of Prefects still stung slightly. For Harry, it was yet another indication that Dumbledore didn’t trust him. He was also worried that Ron and Hermione now had an activity that was just for them. The three of them had always done everything together, with the exception of Harry’s place on the Quidditch team, and he was afraid they might leave him behind. 

His fears were abated slightly when Ron told Harry that he was going to ask Mrs. Weasley to get him a new broomstick when she and Remus headed into Diagon Alley the next day. Ron explained that he was planning to try out for Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Harry was over the moon. It would be truly amazing to have his best mate on the team with him. Harry told Ron just that, and the grin that broke out on Ron’s face made everything feel right again. 

In her happiness that Ron had been made a Prefect, Mrs. Weasley decided that they should have a small celebration that night. At first, she had wanted to invite the whole Order. Upon further reflection, however, she concluded that it should be limited to just family. Harry was warmed by the fact that Mrs. Weasley referred to Sirius, Remus, and himself as family as if it required no further thought. 

Mrs. Weasley had truly outdone herself in preparing for the celebration. She had made enough food to feed a small army, complete with all of Ron’s favorites. She had also found the time to make a huge red and gold banner that proclaimed “Congratulations to Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor Prefects!” in bright, sparkling, letters. 

The evening started out really well. Ron looked happier than Harry had ever seen him. He could see how much it meant to his friend to finally be recognized for something. Before he had met Sirius, Harry hadn’t been able to understand why Ron cared so much about making his parents proud. Now, after having experienced what it felt like to make Sirius happy, Harry understood him a lot better. 

Unbeknownst to Harry, the evening was about to take a rather unpleasant turn. Harry was watching as Fred and George were charming the banner to say increasingly ridiculous things: 

“Congratulations to Ron and Hermione, the new Griffin Petters.” 

“Congratulations to Rin and Hermine, the new Gryffindor platypus.”

“Congrats to Fred and George (and Ginny), the only Weasleys smart enough to know that being a Prefect is a worthless endeavor.” 

Harry was trying hard to control his laughter. It was incredible that Mrs. Weasley hadn’t noticed what the twins were doing yet. It was at that exact moment that his scar began to burn. At first, it was a dull burning, but it quickly grew to the point that Harry had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. He stood quickly and slipped from the room, not noticing the three pairs of eyes that watched him go. 

His vision was blurring as he made his way up the stairs. He had no idea where he was going, he just needed to move. He turned right at the landing and pulled open the first door he came to. It was the first-floor drawing room. He sank to his knees on the floor, his head buried in his hands. The pain rose to a crescendo, and it felt like his head might split in two. Along with the pain was a feeling of intense anger. It was a kind of burning rage that settled under his skin, licking at his insides like a flame of fury.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the pain and the foreign emotion were gone. 

Drawing in deep breaths, Harry uncurled from his position on the floor. As he pulled his hands away from his head, he noticed a small smear of red on his fingertips. Panicking slightly, he put his hand back to his scar. Once again, his fingers came back stained with blood. That had never happened before. 

Harry used his sleeve to wipe the blood off his face. There wasn’t very much of it, but it was still quite concerning. Harry was so caught up in his worries about this new development that he didn’t notice the ominous rattling of the writing desk in the corner.

Just as he stood to leave the room, the center drawer of the writing desk flew open. A dark mass flew out of it. Harry recognized it right away. A boggart. 

Harry was just about to leave the room to find someone who could legally use magic, when his Boggart took shape. 

It wasn’t a Dementor anymore. 

Instead, the dead body of Cedric Diggory had appeared on the floor. 

Harry was frozen in shock. He let his hand drop from the door handle and stared at the corpse on the floor. He was both horrified and entranced by the body. He was transported back to the moment when Cedric had died. All rational thought fled as Harry was overwhelmed with fear. He didn’t know why, but he felt himself being drawn toward the corpse.

As he moved forward, there was a loud crack. The boggart changed again. 

A dead Ron was suddenly on the floor. His eyes blank. 

Crack.

A dead Hermione, curls splayed about her head like a ghostly halo.

Crack. 

A dead Sirius, his gray eyes empty. 

Harry stared, horrified. In the deepest recesses of his mind, Harry knew that Sirius was downstairs. Harry had seen him not five minutes ago. 

Faced with the corpse of his godfather, Harry forgot everything he knew to be true. He felt his heart speeding up as true panic took hold. Was this what being around Harry would eventually do to Sirius?

Suddenly, the door flew open, banging loudly against the wall. In the doorway stood Remus, Sirius, and George. 

Harry saw Remus glance quickly from the dead Sirius on the floor to the very much alive Sirius next to him before understanding filled his eyes. 

Remus stepped in front of Harry, allowing the boggart to take the form of the full moon. 

“Riddikulus.”

The boggart turned into a disco ball before promptly exploding. 

While Remus was dealing with the Boggart, Sirius had rushed over to Harry. 

“Harry, look at me. Are you okay?” 

Harry nodded, though he had never felt further from okay. 

“I’m fine, Sirius. It was just a boggart.”

Sirius didn’t seem to believe him, but Harry didn’t give him the chance to say anything else. 

“I’m going to turn in for the night. I’m really tired.”

With that, Harry turned and fled from the room. He brushed past George, who was still standing frozen in the doorway, without even looking at him. He didn’t want George to see the fear that was still clearly written on his face. 

Once he was back in his room, Harry leaned back against the closed door, gasping for breath. Even now, knowing that the boggart was gone, Harry was overcome with terror. He couldn’t help but wonder if his boggart changing was a bad omen. Maybe the dead bodies had appeared to him because his friends really were going to die. 

Harry shook his head wildly, trying to eject those thoughts from his head. Acting on instinct, he moved toward his bed, pushing aside his pillow and grabbing the locket from underneath. He pulled the locket over his head, clutching it close to his chest. The whispering of the locket was calming, but Harry still felt like he was on the edge of completely losing his mind. 

Not knowing what else to do, Harry reverted to the way he had found comfort as a child. He opened his wardrobe and slid inside, closing the door behind him. It wasn’t his cupboard, but it was close enough. It was in this position, huddled under the hanging clothes with the locket clutched tightly in his hand, that Harry fell asleep many hours later. 

He was in a dark cave, the damp night air creating a bone-deep chill as the boat slid through the black waters. 

Ghostly hands reached out, grabbing onto the boat. He didn’t fear them. He had created them. 

A black rock rose from the water, a bowl full of liquid standing at the ready. No one would ever find this place. 

The blackness of the cave faded, replaced by the darkness of an equally black hallway. A door was at the far end. 

He needed to get through that door. He needed to have what was on the other side. Just a little bit closer...

Harry woke with his scar burning, the dream still fresh in his mind. 

As he became aware of his surroundings, he thought for several moments that he was back at the Dursleys. It was only when he noticed the clothes hanging above him that he remembered where he was and what had happened the night before. He opened the wardrobe doors and clambered out, hissing as his muscles protested the movement. It turned out that his fifteen-year-old body was much less forgiving of sleeping inside tiny spaces than his ten-year-old one had been. 

The light of dawn was just breaking through the windows as Harry stretched his aching limbs and got ready for the day. In the light of morning, the boggart had lost some of its power over him. He understood now that the boggart was just a representation of his fears. His friends and Sirius weren’t doomed to die. He could protect them. He had to protect them. 

Harry made his way into the dining room and stopped dead in his tracks. George, who was never up at this time, was sitting at the table with a mug of tea, several parchments spread around him. He looked up as Harry entered, offering him one of his classic lop-sided grins.

Harry, forgetting himself in his shock, blurted out the first thing that popped into his head.

“Why are you up so early?” 

George suddenly got a very sheepish look on his face. Running his hand through his hair, he sighed. 

“Well, to be honest, Harry. I wanted to make sure you were okay. After yesterday, you know.”

Harry felt himself blush. 

“I’m okay, George. Really.” 

It was mostly true. 

George stared at him for a long moment before nodding. 

“Okay, then” 

Silence fell for just a moment before George gestured for Harry to join him at the table. 

“There’s another reason I was waiting for you. Fred and I wanted your opinion on some of our new product ideas.” 

Over the next hour or so, George took Harry through the plans he and Fred had made for different product lines. Harry was particularly intrigued by the Skiving Snackboxes and thought they would likely sell very well among the Hogwarts population. 

When Harry asked George how they had made the Snackboxes, George launched into an in-depth description of their process. As it turned out, George was just as big a fan of Potions as Harry was. He admitted, looking slightly ashamed, that he had even gotten an Outstanding on his Potions OWL.

“I let myself down on that one. I’m supposed to leave the academic achievement to Percy.” 

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. He knew George was secretly pleased that he had done well even if his prankster sensibilities would never allow him to admit it. 

George, having noticed Harry’s newfound interest in Potions, asked him for his thoughts on how to solve the problem they were having with the Nosebleed Nougat. They hadn’t been able to figure out how to stop the bleeding. After thinking for a bit, Harry suggested that they try including a coagulation element that was modified to activate after a set amount of time. George was immediately intrigued, and they began searching for an ingredient that might work. 

When Remus walked into the dining room a little while later, he found Harry and George sitting with their heads together, surrounded by parchment. The two boys didn’t even notice his entrance. As the others trickled in, Harry and George finally put away their parchments, vowing to continue working on the recipe later on. 

Once everyone had arrived downstairs, the conversation turned to school supplies and book lists. Mrs. Weasley and Remus were planning to depart for Diagon Alley immediately after breakfast to beat the crowds. 

Mrs. Weasley would be handling the supplies for all of her children, while Remus had offered to handle buying things for Harry and Hermione. Harry had given Remus his vault key in preparation for the trip. Knowing that Remus would likely have extra time in his day because he had a lot less to buy than Mrs. Weasley, Harry had asked if Remus could pick up some extra books for him. 

Remus, being a huge book enthusiast himself, had agreed readily. Harry had asked for books on Spell-Crafting, Curse-Breaking, and advanced Potions. He trusted Remus to pick the best Diagon Alley had to offer. Remus, who was clearly happy to foster Harry’s new-found academic pursuits, had also offered him some advice for getting through History of Magic. 

“You know, Harry. When we were in school, a lot of students would use Dicta-Quills in Binns’ class.” 

At Harry’s confused look, Remus explained that Dicta-Quills would write down anything that was being said. 

“It was much easier to read through the transcript of Binns’ classes later on than to attempt to pay attention to his droning. I can get you one if you’d like.”

Harry agreed so quickly, it made Remus laugh. Although History of Magic was notorious for putting students to sleep, Harry knew that the actual content of Binns’ lectures was accurate and interesting. It was just that the ghost’s voice was nearly as effective as the strongest sleeping potion on the market. Having a transcript of the lectures would allow Harry to use History of Magic as a time to study other subjects while still having access to all the information he needed to pass his History OWL. 

Harry actually found himself greatly looking forward to the coming academic year at Hogwarts. The only subject he wasn’t sure about was Defense Against the Dark Arts. When Remus had seen the required textbook for the class, Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard, he had actually snorted. Apparently, the book offered no practical advice for using defensive magic. Instead, Slinkhard’s suggestion for most situations was to sit quietly and wait for the Aurors to arrive. Unless the new professor planned to use the book as kindling for practicing fire-based defensive spells, things did not look good for their DADA education this year. At least the book seemed fairly harmless. The person who assigned this book seemed like a DADA professor who, despite their incompetence, probably wouldn’t be particularly evil or dangerous. 

Harry had no idea just how wrong he was.


	11. The Journey Back

Harry’s final few days at Grimmauld Place passed much too quickly for his liking. Usually, Harry was incredibly eager to return to Hogwarts. This year was different. This was the first time he would miss the place he was leaving. 

While it was true that he missed Quidditch, the Gryffindor Common Room, and the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, he knew that he would soon be missing Sirius far more than any of those things.

Harry tried to keep a smile on his face during those last few days. He didn’t want to spoil any of his remaining time with his godfather and Remus by moping about. It was difficult to maintain the facade. He knew that this year would likely be very difficult. With the Daily Prophet printing lies about him every few days, he would probably be faced with widespread animosity from the rest of the student body. That prospect, combined with the new developments with his scar, made Harry almost want to stay at Grimmauld Place. 

Sirius, as it turned out, was not at all fooled by Harry’s act. On the day before their return to Hogwarts, he pulled Harry aside. 

“Harry, I know that you’re worried about going back to Hogwarts. I completely understand why you might feel that way. Just know, even though I won’t be there with you, you’ll still be able to talk to me whenever you want to.”

At Harry’s confused look, Sirius pulled a cloth-wrapped object from within the folds of his robes. 

“There’s something I want you to have. It’s a way for us to communicate while you’re at school.” 

Sirius unwrapped the cloth to reveal an ornate silver hand-mirror. 

“This is a two-way mirror. I have the other one. When you want to talk, just say my name into your mirror, and when I pick up, you’ll be able to speak to me.”

Harry was fascinated by the mirror. This was some really intricate spell-work. 

“Just make sure you call where no one can hear you. I don’t think you should widely broadcast the fact that you’re in communication with Sirius Black. He’s supposed to be a dangerous criminal, after all.”

Harry grinned at Sirius. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

At last, the morning of September 1st arrived. It was on a Friday this year which meant that the students of Hogwarts would have a whole weekend to get settled before classes started on Monday, September 4th. 

That morning at Grimmauld place could only be described as chaos. Various Weasleys had forgotten various things around the house, and Mrs. Weasley was beginning to fear that they would miss the train. 

At last, everyone was packed and ready to go. All that was left was to wait for the arrival of the several Order members who were going to escort them to King’s Cross Station. Harry couldn’t help but feel guilty. His presence was preventing the other teenagers from heading off to school like normal students. What other Hogwarts student had to be accompanied to the train by an armed guard?

Just before they left, Sirius pulled Harry into a tight hug. 

“Remember the mirror, Harry. You’d better call at least once a week, or I’m going to have to break into Hogwarts again.”

Harry laughed. He knew that Sirius wasn’t joking, he would break into Hogwarts for Harry. He’d done it before. 

“Of course I will, Sirius. 

Sirius pulled back, ruffling Harry’s hair fondly. 

“Off you go, then! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Remus, who had overheard, made a face at that.

“That’s terrible advice. Don’t do anything Sirius WOULD do. Okay?”

Harry grinned at the two men. He offered them one final wave before he allowed himself to be shuffled out of Grimmauld Place with the others. It was time to get back to Hogwarts. 

Harry’s good mood disappeared almost immediately when they arrived at Platform 9 ¾. Everyone was staring at him. They weren’t nice stares either. Glares would have been a better word for it. 

Harry kept his head down and focused on getting himself, Hedwig’s cage, and his trunk onto the train. This was no easy feat considering how many books he had packed. Ron and Hermione headed off to the Prefect’s Carriage while Harry, Ginny, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan (who had seemingly been conjured out of thin air by the twins) found a nearly empty compartment. 

The only occupants of the compartment were a girl with long blond hair and Neville. Ginny introduced the girl as Luna Lovegood. She seemed extremely uninterested by their arrival, simply nodding at each of them before she turned back to reading her upside-down magazine. Harry liked her immediately. She had an aura of strangeness about her that made him feel oddly comforted. On instinct, he extended his magic into the carriage, attempting to sense her magic. It was beautiful, like the tinkling of tiny bells. 

Harry was very glad to see Neville again. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed spending time with his fellow Gryffindor. He had been so distracted in previous years that he hadn’t given Neville the time he really deserved. He resolved that this year he would be a better friend to Neville. 

Neville was in the middle of explaining the properties of his Mimbulus Mibletonia when the compartment door slid open. Standing on the threshold was one of the last people Harry wanted to see: Cho Chang. She was still undeniably pretty, but all Harry felt when he looked at her was guilt. He had basically killed her boyfriend. Was she here to yell at him?? He wouldn’t blame her if she was. 

“Hi, Harry,” Cho said softly. She didn’t seem angry.

“Hi,” Harry choked out, trying to hide the fact that his hands had started trembling violently. 

There was an awkward silence before Cho seemed to come to a decision. 

“Can I talk to you for a moment, Harry? Outside?”

Harry nodded, feeling his blood run cold. Here it was. She was going to tell him that she blamed him for Cedric’s death. 

He stiffly followed Cho from the compartment, trying to hide how anxious he was. 

Once they were outside, Cho gave him a soft smile. 

“I just wanted to thank you, Harry.”

Harry thought for a moment that he was hallucinating.

“Why?” 

The word came out before Harry could stop himself. 

Cho drew in a deep, shaky, breath before continuing. 

“You brought him back to us. To his family and to me. I believe you, you know. About You-Know-Who. You must have risked a lot to bring him back. So, thank you.”

There were tears in her eyes. She seemed so grateful. She didn’t understand. She needed to understand. 

“You shouldn’t thank me. It was my fault that he was even anywhere near Voldemort. You should hate me.”

He didn’t know what made him say it. He had never admitted his guilt to anyone before. Something about the gratitude in her eyes just made him so angry. He didn’t deserve anyone’s gratitude. 

Cho was now looking at him like he was a wounded animal. There was such sympathy in her gaze, sympathy that he didn’t deserve. He needed to leave before she could say anything else. 

“Um, Cho. I just remembered, I have to go ask Hermione about something. It’s urgent. So, I’m going to just…”

He turned and practically fled down the train. 

He found one of the train’s bathrooms and hurried inside, locking the door behind him. 

Resting his arms on the sink, he tried to catch his breath. He didn’t understand why seeing Cho would affect him like this. She had been nothing but kind to him. She had thanked him. 

She just didn’t understand how undeserving of thanks he was. If she really understood what he had done, she would hate him. 

Harry splashed some cold water on his face, trying to come back to himself. Slowly but surely, he regained a measure of calm. 

He was fine.

Unfortunately, a glance at the mirror showed him that he certainly didn’t look fine. Even the month he had spent at Grimmauld Place hadn’t been enough to rid him of the half-starved look that was characteristic of his time at Privet Drive. He looked better, but he definitely didn’t look good. His cheekbones were still too harsh, and the thinness of his face made his eyes stand out so much that the green seemed to almost glow. The many nights of disturbed sleep had also left their mark. He had deep circles beneath his eyes and an unnatural pallor to his already pale skin. His scar stood out starkly, red and inflamed. 

Sighing heavily, Harry exited the bathroom and headed back to the compartment. George gave him a very long look when he entered. Harry smiled at him, trying to appear as if nothing had happened. George didn’t seem to buy it, but before he could say anything, Harry hurriedly pulled out one of the Potions books Remus had bought for him in Diagon Alley. The book was _An Anthology of Rare Ingredients and Their Properties_ , and it was incredibly interesting. It went through many rare ingredients and how they interacted with more common ingredients. Harry was currently using the book to search for an ingredient that could be used to correct the recipe for Nosebleed Nougat. He really wanted to be able to surprise the twins with the solution to their problem. 

The rest of the train ride passed quickly. Ron and Hermione eventually returned, Ron complaining loudly about the tedium of the Prefect meeting. As they approached the castle, everyone changed into their robes and put away their things. 

As they exited the train, the first thing Harry noticed was that Hagrid was not the one calling for the first years. Instead, it was Professor Grubbly-Plank. Before Harry could dwell on Hagrid’s absence, he noticed something that made him stop cold. There was something pulling the carriages. 

Skeletal black horses, two to each carriage, were standing there plain as day. Harry stepped forward, reaching out his hand to pat the horse. Its skin was leathery but strangely soft. It leaned into his touch. Harry felt a strange connection to this creature. It was only then that he noticed that his friends were staring at him like he’d lost his mind. 

“What? It seems friendly.”

His explanation didn’t seem to help. His friends were still gaping at him. 

“They can’t see them, Harry,” Luna said. Then, she turned to the others. 

“The carriages are pulled by Thestrals. They’re only visible to those who have seen death. That’s why Harry and I can see them, and you can’t.”

Understanding filled Hermione’s face. 

“Oh, I’ve read about Thestrals. I never knew they pulled the carriages though. It’s not in _Hogwarts: A History_.”

Harry could almost see the gears in Hermione’s head turning as she planned how to make a revision to her favorite book. 

He turned back to the skeletal horse. He felt oddly connected to the strange animal. Maybe it was because he also felt like a harbinger of death. He tore himself away from the strangely beautiful creature and followed the others into a carriage. 

The trip passed without incident, and soon enough they were walking into the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts. It was somehow even more beautiful than Harry remembered. He loved it here. 

They filed into the Great Hall, bidding goodbye to Luna as she headed toward the Ravenclaw table, and sat down at the Gryffindor table. They were just in time, as the next moment, McGonagall entered leading the first-year students behind her. She brought out the stool and the Sorting Hat along with it. The Hat seemed to draw in a breath before its brim opened and it broke into song. 

_Long Ago, when I was newly made_

_It seemed the spirit of Hogwarts would never fade_

_It was written in the castle’s very stone_

_That students would always protect their own_

_Whether Gryffindor brave, or Hufflepuff diligent,_

_Slytherin sly, or Ravenclaw intelligent,_

_The students of this noble school_

_Should follow this, our most sacred rule:_

_To care for their comrade_

_In times of good or bad_

_Without thought or care_

_For the color tie they wear_

_Forget the divides between you,_

_Forge yourselves friendships new._

_If you make enemies of one another_

_Hogwarts will be torn asunder_

_A great darkness approaches_

_We must be strong before evil encroaches_

_Denial will not stop its arrival_

_Only unity can ensure our survival_

_You must understand the danger we face_

_Before we lose the beauty of this place_

_Stand together, side by side_

_To slow evil’s coming tide._

_Do not allow Hogwarts to fall_

_Unite, once and for all._

_Remember what I have said_

_For only together can you face the darkness ahead._

Silence descended over the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat finished its song. The Hat had never said anything like this before. Many of the students were whispering among themselves, looks of deep confusion and concern on their faces. Harry didn’t pay attention to a single first-year’s sorting, so deep in thought was he. 

The Sorting Hat was right. They couldn’t afford to be divided. Looking around the Great Hall, Harry was sure of one thing: this was going to be a very interesting year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope my Sorting Hat song wasn't too terrible, those things are really hard to write! Also, I checked and September 1, 1995, really was a Friday which I thought was a little bit odd. I guess the students just got there early to have a nice weekend together!


	12. A Toad and a Tryout

Harry tried his best to enjoy the feast despite the eyes he could feel on him. The distrust of his classmates, especially his fellow Gryffindors, was hard to bear. He had hoped that the people who knew him personally would have taken the Daily Prophet with a grain of salt.

He decided to ignore the whispering and the glares. He was surrounded by good food and good friends. He knew that there were people who would have his back, even if the rest of the school hated him.

As it turned out, one of the people who had his back was Angelina Johnson. She came up to him during the feast and told him in no uncertain terms that she believed him. Then, without skipping a beat, she told Harry that she had been made the new Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and that tryouts for the new Keeper would be that very Sunday. She wanted the whole team to be there, including him.

“We’ve all had a year off. We’ll be rusty. Wood was a great Keeper, and we need someone who can gel with the rest of the team. That only comes with practice, and I want to start as soon as we can.”

Harry could barely contain his excitement. Quidditch was by far the thing he had missed the most about Hogwarts. It had been over a year since he had last flown with the other members of the Gryffindor Team, and he was more than ready to be back on the Pitch.

Quidditch was something that made him feel normal. When he flew, he could depend on his talent, not his name. He wasn’t the “Boy Who Lived” or, as the Daily Prophet had started calling him, “The Boy Who Lied.” Flying was the first thing he had ever felt that he was truly good at. He couldn’t wait for Sunday.

After Angelina left, Harry and Ron continued to discuss the upcoming tryouts. After a while, the tables filled with desserts. Despite Ron’s nervousness about making the Quidditch team, he still managed to eat two large servings of sticky toffee pudding.

Harry was just finishing a slice of treacle tart when Dumbledore stood and walked to his podium, clearly ready to make his annual welcoming speech.

“Welcome, students, to yet another year at Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore looked down at the students, eyes twinkling. Harry tried to meet his gaze, but Dumbledore didn’t once look his way.

“I just want to give out a few reminders before you all head to your beds. First, the Forbidden Forest is, in fact, forbidden. It is not merely named that for your amusement. Second, Mr. Filch would like me to remind you that the full list of forbidden items can be found on his office door for anyone who wishes to check it. I believe it has surpassed 500 items this year.”

Fred and George exchanged a victorious glance. Harry couldn’t help but wonder how many of those items they had personally gotten banned.

“Finally, I wanted to introduce the new members of our staff. First, Professor Grubbly-Plank who will be filling in for Professor Hagrid while he is on a short sabbatical.”

The students applauded politely as Professor Grubbly-Plank stood.

“Next, Delores Umbridge who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Harry almost choked on the swig of pumpkin juice he had just taken. The woman who had just stood was none other than the woman who had sat beside Fudge at his hearing. She was even dressed in the same sickening shade of pink.

Harry could only watch in horror as Umbridge interrupted Dumbledore and gave a very enlightening speech. Harry didn’t need to listen for long to figure out what she was really saying. The Ministry of Magic would be interfering at Hogwarts this year.

When Umbridge had finally finished speaking, the students breathed a collective sigh of relief. If her classes were anything like this, Harry thought, she might give Binns some competition for the title of most boring professor at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore dismissed them swiftly after Umbridge was finished, clearly sensing that the students were in no mood for further speeches. As Ron and Hermione began shepherding the new first years to Gryffindor Tower, Harry hung back. He wanted to avoid the crowds as much as he could. Neville stayed back to wait with him. When Harry gave him a surprised look, Neville gave him a kind smile.

“You don’t even know the password, Harry. I do. Besides, you don’t need to do this alone.”

Harry was deeply touched by Neville’s words. It was nice to know that he had people on his side. When they judged the hall to be sufficiently cleared out, Harry and Neville made their way up to Gryffindor Tower. When they arrived at the Fat Lady, Neville happily gave the password.

“Mimbulus Mibletonia.”

Harry laughed. What were the chances that the password just happened to be the name of the very plant that Neville had brought with him on the train?

As they entered the Common Room together, Harry steeled himself. He could do this. He knew that he was telling the truth. Everyone else would eventually know it too.

To Harry’s relief, he was able to make his way up to his dormitory without incident. Unfortunately, as soon as he entered the room, Seamus gave him a cold glare and stormed out of the room.

Dean, looking very apologetic, explained that Seamus believed the Daily Prophet and thought Harry was lying about Voldemort’s return.

“He actually thinks you’re a bit mental as well. I tried to remind him that you’re a good bloke, but he just won’t listen.”

“It’s okay, Dean. Thanks for trying.”

But it wasn’t okay. Not really. A boy who had slept in the same room as him for four years, who had been a friend to him, thought he was an unbalanced liar.

Harry readied himself for bed as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the sting of Seamus’ betrayal. He grabbed his Potions book and the locket before pulling his curtains shut. He cast a silencing spell over his curtains, enjoying the pleasant feeling of the magic as it flowed down his arm. The last thing he needed was to wake the entire dorm with his nightmares. That likely wouldn’t help him prove to Seamus that he was sane.

It was hours before Harry was able to fall asleep. When he finally drifted off, he was haunted by images of dark hallways, accusing stares, and a door that he simply couldn’t open.

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, perfect Quidditch weather. After a quick breakfast, Harry and Ron grabbed their brooms and headed down to the Quidditch Pitch. Ron had asked for help preparing for Keeper tryouts, and Harry was more than happy to oblige.

Before they had even stepped foot on the Pitch, Harry had mounted his Firebolt and kicked off from the ground. The feeling of flight was even more exhilarating than he remembered it being. He couldn’t help but let out a whoop of joy as he wove in and out of the goalposts. Rising high into the air, he let himself hang for a moment, enjoying the beauty of the Hogwarts grounds. Then, he turned his broom handle straight down into a steep dive. He loved the adrenaline rush he got from dives like this. He was going so fast, that any mistake on his part would result in a Harry-shaped crater in the grass. He didn’t care. His broom responded perfectly to his every desire. He leaned into the dive, letting himself accelerate toward the ground. At the last moment, he pulled his broom handle level, his toes just brushing the grass. He rose back into the air, grinning broadly.

“Oi, Harry! Stop showing off and come help me!” Ron called from the other end of the pitch. Harry grinned even wider and sped back toward his best mate.

Harry began putting Ron through his paces with one of the practice Quaffles. Ron was really quite good once he warmed up a bit. After a while, Ron was saving nearly every Quaffle that Harry threw at him. Ron’s long limbs were perfect for a Keeper, allowing him to block the goals with relative ease. He would be a great asset to the Gryffindor Team.

After about an hour, Fred and George joined them. Fred took over throwing Quaffles for Ron while George attempted to hit Bludgers at Harry, who managed to avoid every single one. George was an excellent Beater, but Harry was too small and too fast for him to hit. After a while, George gave up and started conjuring golf balls and throwing them all over the pitch for Harry to catch. He threw them faster and faster, forcing Harry to zoom around the Pitch as fast as his Firebolt would carry him. He was able to catch every single ball. The only close call came when he almost flew straight into Ron and ended up crashing into the goalpost instead. He wasn’t too badly bruised, and he had still managed to catch the ball, so it turned out alright in the end.

It wasn’t until they stopped for lunch that Harry noticed that they had an audience. Neville, Hermione, Luna, and three people Harry didn’t know were sitting in the stands. All six joined them as they walked up to the castle. Neville introduced his friends as Susan Bones, Tracey Davis, and Blaise Zabini. Susan was a Hufflepuff and Blaise and Tracey were both in Slytherin.

To Harry’s surprise, Ron was getting on quite well with the two Slytherins. Blaise was a huge Quidditch fan and they quickly got into a friendly debate about which teams would make it to the next World Cup. Harry found both the Slytherins to be very funny. His favorite moment came when Tracey thanked him for keeping Malfoy in line.

“I swear, that boy needs to have his head deflated. You seem to be the only one that can do it properly, Potter. Every time you beat him at Quidditch he sulks for a few days. We love not having to hear his whiny little voice.”

Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Neville broke into peals of laughter at the image of Malfoy sulking. Even Hermione looked pleased. It was nice to meet another person who disliked Malfoy as much as he did. Harry found himself feeling deep sympathy for Blaise. He didn’t think he could survive sharing a dormitory with Draco Malfoy.

After lunch, Harry joined Hermione in the library while Ron and Blaise headed off to play chess. Harry thought Ron would have a much better time playing with the Slytherin, who seemed fairly strategic, than he usually did playing with him. Harry was really quite terrible at chess.

While Hermione drew up study schedules for the three of them and Neville, Harry started scouring the shelves for books on Potions. He had finished _An Anthology of Rare Ingredients and Their Properties_ last night, and he hadn’t found anything that could properly fix the Nosebleed Nougat.

He didn’t know why this problem was bothering him so much. He found that he wanted desperately to be the one who figured it out. He wanted to see the look on George’s face when he told him that he’d found the solution. He didn’t know why he cared so much. He didn’t know why George’s smile made him so happy.

Suddenly, the answer hit him. He was an idiot. He had been looking in all the wrong places! He had been looking at rare ingredients when the answer was one of the most common ingredients. It was so simple that they had completely forgotten about it. The answer was Dittany! It was used in most healing potions, including the Blood-Replenishing Potion. If it was included in the recipe and modified with a time-release charm, it should be able to slow and eventually stop the bleeding.

Harry told Fred and George about his discovery at dinner. They were just as astounded by their own stupidity as he had been. Sometimes things really were that simple. Harry found that the look of admiration on George’s face was more than worth his long afternoon in the Library.

Sunday, the day of tryouts, was another day of perfect Quidditch weather. Harry didn’t bother going down to breakfast. Instead, he headed straight to the Pitch. He knew Sirius and Remus would probably yell at him for not eating when he still looked, in the words of Sirius, like a "stick insect with Potter hair.”

Right now, Harry didn’t care much about eating. The Great Hall meant he would have to be around people who thought he was an unhinged liar. Harry didn’t need that in his life right now. Right now, he wanted to fly.

Swinging gracefully onto his Firebolt, he rocketed into the air. He relished the feeling of the air whipping around him as he flew faster and faster loops around the Pitch. Feeling sufficiently warmed up, Harry began practicing his dives. Ever since he had seen Krum pull off the Wronski Feint, Harry had been wanting to try it.

He let his dives grow progressively faster and more reckless. He let himself go as high as he wanted. He let himself dive as fast as he wanted. He reveled in it.

It was after one particularly dangerous dive that he heard someone shouting for him. Looking toward the ground, he saw that it was George.

Harry landed and walked over to George, who for some reason looked very angry.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing??”

“I was flying? I don’t understand…”

“Flying? That looked like attempted suicide to me. Can you please try not to kill yourself before classes even start?”

“I was fine, George! I know how to fly!”

“It’s not about that! IT’S ABOUT TAKING UNNECESSARY RISKS!!”

George yelled the last part. Harry quickly took a few steps back from him. He hated when people yelled at him. It brought back too many bad memories. George sighed and ran a hand through his red hair.

“I’m sorry I yelled, Harry. You just scared me. That’s all.”

Harry nodded.

“Here, I brought you some toast.” George extended the napkin he was holding out to Harry.

When Harry didn’t take it right away, George sighed again.

“Please, Harry. You need to eat. I don’t want to have to tell Sirius that you got blown into the Whomping Willow.”

Harry gave George a smile and took the toast. While he ate, George told him about the next prank they had planned for Percy. Their scheme involved a live giraffe and several kilos of whipped cream. Harry thought it sounded brilliant.

The rest of the afternoon went wonderfully. Quidditch tryouts were a success. Ron had saved every Quaffle thrown at him and was now officially the Gryffindor Keeper. Harry was overjoyed for his friend.

Except for the fact that most of the school hated him, it had been a good start to the year. Classes were beginning tomorrow and Harry thought things might just be okay.

He was wrong.


	13. Classes and Clairvoyance

The first day of classes dawned wet and dark. Rain pounded the windows of Gryffindor tower, flashes of lightning streaking across the gray sky. The dreary weather perfectly matched Harry’s mood.

He had woken just before dawn to yet another nightmarish dream. Upon waking, he had found a small red stain on his pillow. His scar was bleeding again.

He had no idea how to respond to this. Deep down, he knew that he should probably tell someone. It wasn’t normal for a scar this old to bleed. It wasn’t normal for his dreams to be so violent, so filled with murderous emotions and pain. It wasn’t normal to be so attached to a locket and so entranced by its whisperings. The problem was that he couldn’t think of who to tell.

Sirius would have been an obvious choice, but Harry found himself hesitating. His godfather was still recovering from years in Azkaban. The last thing Harry wanted was to make Sirius worry about him. By that same logic, Remus was out because he would definitely tell Sirius. His friends were also not a viable option. No matter how hard they might try to help him, Harry knew that this problem was likely beyond their power to fix. They would worry, they would get distracted from their happy lives, and Harry would be responsible.

Part of him, the part that remembered being an awed eleven-year-old boy meeting Dumbledore for the first time, wanted to go to the Headmaster. If anyone would know what was going on, it was Dumbledore. After a few moments, he dismissed the option of Dumbledore as well. The Headmaster already didn’t trust him. He already thought Harry was weak.

To make matters worse, finding someone to tell was not his only problem. After all, the last time he had tried to tell someone about the locket, he physically hadn’t been able to. He might be able to tell someone about the bleeding, but maybe he wouldn’t be able to talk about that either. It seemed that Harry had only one option. He would bear this pain alone. Maybe it was some sort of cosmic punishment for the pain he caused others. He would keep quiet and handle this himself. It was probably what he deserved.

Harry aimed a cleansing charm at his face and at his pillow, removing all traces of blood. Without the physical evidence, it was easy to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Harry still had around 30 minutes before he needed to start getting ready for the day. He used this time to meditate on his Animagus form. He had tried it several times at Grimmauld Place but hadn’t had much luck. He had high hopes for this morning. He had always felt calmest at Hogwarts, and he hoped that he would finally be able to make some progress.

He closed his eyes, trying to let his mind empty of everything that was bothering him. As was the usual occurrence for him, he was completely unable to think of nothing. It was impossible for him. Frustrated, he thought back to yesterday when he had been flying. He was so calm when he was in the air. He needed to grasp that feeling.

It was as Harry was imagining himself flying that something finally happened. Suddenly, he wasn’t flying on a broom anymore, he was soaring on wings. The air was rustling through his feathers as he turned in a graceful arc.

A loud snore brought Harry out of his reverie. He silently cursed Ron for ruining his concentration.

His annoyance was quickly replaced with excitement. He was going to be a bird!! This was perfect! He probably should’ve seen this coming considering how much he liked flying. He still had no earthly idea what kind of bird he was, but this was definitely a great first step.

Harry was practically buzzing with joy as he got ready for the day. There was something about becoming an Animagus that made him feel like a little kid in a candy store. Not that he actually knew what that felt like. The first time he had been to a candy store was when he had gone to Honeydukes in third year.

Noticing that Ron was still sleeping like the dead, he sent a tickling charm toward his friend, who only groaned and muttered something about Quaffles. Harry put a little bit more power into the charm, grinning as Ron fell out of his bed, laughing hysterically. Once he stopped laughing, Ron glared at Harry before dragging himself to the bathroom.

Harry pulled on his uniform, relishing in the familiarity of the clothing. He didn’t understand why other students hated the crisp white button-down, the black trousers, the gray sweater, the tie, and robe that went over it all. This uniform had been the first nice piece of clothing Harry had ever owned, and he still loved wearing it.

He carefully organized his bag for the day, making sure to include all the books he might need. They wouldn’t get schedules until breakfast, and there wouldn’t be time to come back to the dormitory before the first class of the day. Harry gave special care to his folder full of summer assignments, double-checking to make sure they were all there.

He was determined to do his best this year and these assignments were the first step. He couldn’t afford to be mediocre. He needed to make Sirius and Remus proud. He had to ensure that his parents’ sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. He had to make the most of Hogwarts because Cedric couldn’t.

Once Ron and Neville we’re ready, Harry gathered up his bag, and the three of them walked down to the Common Room. Hermione was already there, sitting on one of the couches with a large book open in her lap.

“Good morning!” She said, slamming the book closed.

“Let’s head down to breakfast! I can’t wait to see what schedules are like. I’ve heard that we’ll be terribly busy in fifth year!”

The four of them headed down to breakfast, chatting about what classes they hoped to have that day. Neville wanted Herbology, of course, while Hermione was excited for everything. Harry just hoped that he wouldn’t have to see Umbridge today.

Just as they were heading down the last set of stairs before they reached the Great Hall, Harry suddenly lost his footing and tumbled down the last few steps, landing hard.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, rushing to help him up.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he gasped. That would leave a few bruises.

“I think that was a Tripping Jinx,” Neville said, looking around nervously.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it was,” Harry replied, trying to ignore the fact that one of his fellow students had just knocked him down the stairs. He was glad that they’d at least had the decency to wait until the last few steps. He didn’t need to end up in the Hospital Wing on the first day of class.

With his body already aching from the fall, Harry followed the others into the Great Hall. Breakfast passed quickly, the buzz of conversation helping Harry forget about whoever had just attacked him. Before he knew it, McGonagall was walking down the table handing out schedules.

When she handed him his, Harry quickly saw that Hermione had been right: this year would be very busy.

Monday:  
8:00-9:50: History of Magic  
10:00-10:50: Charms  
11:00-11:50: Herbology  
12:00-12:50: Lunch  
13:00-13:50: Divination  
14:00-15:50: Transfiguration  
16:00-16:50: Potions

Tuesday:  
8:00-9:50: Transfiguration  
10:00-10:50: Charms  
11:00-11:50: Defense Against the Dark Arts  
12:00-12:50: Lunch  
13:00-13:50: History of Magic  
14:00-15:50: Care of Magical Creatures  
16:00-16:50: Herbology

Wednesday:  
8:00-9:50: History of Magic  
10:00-10:50: Charms  
11:00-11:50: Defense Against the Dark Arts  
12:00-12:50: Lunch  
13:00-13:50: Herbology  
14:00-15:50: Potions  
16:00-16:50: Transfiguration

Thursday:  
8:00-9:50: Divination  
10:00-10:50: Charms  
11:00-11:50: Care of Magical Creatures  
12:00-12:50: Lunch  
13:00-13:50: Herbology  
14:00-15:50: Defense Against the Dark Arts  
16:00-16:50: Transfiguration

Friday:  
8:00-9:50: Care of Magical Creatures  
10:00-10:50: Charms  
11:00-11:50: Defense Against the Dark Arts  
12:00-12:50: Lunch  
13:00-13:50: Divination  
14:00-15:50: Potions  
16:00-16:50: Herbology  
22:00-0:00: Astronomy

“History of Magic first thing on a Monday morning? Are they trying to kill us?” Ron exclaimed angrily.

Harry couldn’t help but agree with Ron’s sentiment. Putting History of Magic first thing on a Monday was a recipe for disaster. The entire class would likely be asleep within minutes. Harry had never been more grateful to Remus for getting him the Dicta-Quill.

Harry was happy to see that he had gotten his wish and wouldn’t be seeing Umbridge at all that day. He was also rather excited that they had Potions this afternoon. He was really looking forward to brewing. If he ignored Snape and concentrated, he knew he could do extremely well.

Once Ron had finished his third plate of food, they set off for the History of Magic classroom. As Harry had predicted, within five minutes of Binns’ lecture starting, most of the class had dozed off. Harry, however, had set up his Dicta-Quill and was ignoring Binns completely. He spent the period reading through his Potions text going over the recipes near the beginning of the book while making notes.

Despite being a double, the class passed quickly enough. When the bell rang, they headed off to Charms. Harry was looking forward to this class. He’d always liked Professor Flitwick. He was kind and intelligent, always knowing how to explain things in a way that made sense.

That day they were reviewing Banishing Charms which they had gone over the previous year. To make things interesting, Professor Flitwick had designed a challenge for them. He had acquired blocks of stone, which he had charmed to increase exponentially in weight, for them to practice the charms on. While the rest of the class was practicing the charm, they would be called up in groups of 4 to see how many of the blocks they could banish.

Flitwick had charmed 20 blocks, the lightest being around 50 kilos while the heaviest was 1000 kilos. The average adult wizard had enough raw power to banish around 350 kilos, so the final stone was a long shot for all but the most powerful wizards.

This was the first time in their Hogwarts education that they had done an exercise that measured raw magical power, with good reason. Raw magical potential didn’t stop growing until a wizard hit 15. After that, the amount of power you had was stable. Their professors had taken a lot of time in previous years to explain the important difference between power and skill. If you had average power, you could still be a great wizard. In the same vein, you could have a ton of magical power, but if you had no skill, you wouldn’t be able to control it.

For most wizards, power wasn’t something they thought about. The vast majority of spells could be done by almost any power level. It was only with very difficult magic that power started to matter. Raw magical power was part of the reason why Voldemort was so terrifying. He was hugely powerful and had the skill to back it up. That made him incredibly dangerous.

Harry had no idea what to expect from himself. He knew that he could conjure a Corporeal Patronus, something that most adult wizards couldn’t do, but he didn’t know how that would translate into his raw magical power. He expected he was just slightly above average. He might be able to banish the 400 kilo block, but he doubted that he would be able to go much beyond that.

Harry couldn’t stop himself from watching as people took their turns banishing the blocks. Most seemed to make it to 300, 350, or 400. Harry watched as Blaise managed the 600 kilo block, to Professor Flitwick’s obvious delight. To Harry’s delight, Malfoy only managed to get to 350. His face turned very red and Harry could almost hear him planning to tell his father about this.

Finally, it was their turn. As he made his way to the front of the room with Ron, Hermione, and Neville, Harry noticed that Neville appeared very nervous. Harry knew that Neville thought himself to be a very weak Wizard. Harry knew that he was wrong. He hoped that this exercise might show Neville just how powerful he really was.

Hermione went first, setting a new class record by banishing the 650 kilo block. Ron was next, managing 550. Then it was Neville’s turn. Although his wand was shaking the entire time, Neville made it to Hermione’s record of 650 without showing a sign of strain. As he pointed his wand at the 700 kilo block and said “Dupulso,” the block flew back several feet. Neville made it all the way to 750 kilos before he was maxed out. The look of happiness on Neville’s face was an amazing sight. Harry hoped this would help his friend gain some confidence.

Harry wasn’t surprised that his friends were so powerful. Ron came from a family full of extremely powerful wizards, Hermione was brilliant, and Neville was a diamond in the rough in terms of power. He didn’t know how to use his strength very well, but he had a lot of it. Harry didn’t think he would even be in the same league as his friends.

Harry was surprised when he managed to make it to 500 kilos with relative ease. Then 600. Then 700. Then, to his utter disbelief, 800. Professor Flitwick was bouncing up and down with glee, while the rest of the class was openly staring at him. He made it past 850. Then 900. Then 950.

There was only one block left.

To say that Harry was shocked would have been an understatement. He had no idea what was going on. Part of him had been tempted to just stop around 600, making it look like he had simply run out of power. But he had promised to do his best. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

Steeling himself, Harry pointed his wand at the 1000 kilo block, channeling all his magic through his wand.

“Depulso.”

The block flew backward, hitting the wall with an almighty crash. The block had cracked clean down the middle, leaving two perfect halves of stone lying on the ground.

The room was silent for a moment. Then, Professor Flitwick started applauding loudly.

“Oh, Mr. Potter! What an amazing display of raw magic!! Marvelous! Just Marvelous!”

Harry thought he might die from embarrassment. Thankfully, it was at that moment that the bell rang. They gathered up their books and headed onto the grounds for Herbology.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Ron couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Blimey, Harry!! I didn’t know you were that powerful! You might be on par with Dumbledore!”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to this. He certainly didn’t feel very powerful. Hermione, to Harry’s surprise, did not share Ron’s reaction.

“I always expected that Harry would be the most powerful of all of us. Don’t give me that look, Harry! You produced a Corporeal Patronus that drove off over 100 dementors! That’s something that most grown wizards couldn’t even dream of doing, and you were 13!!!”

Harry hadn’t really thought of it that way. He had been desperate to save Sirius. It was that simple. Although he didn’t understand how he could be as powerful as all that, he found himself desperately hoping that it was true. If he was going to face Voldemort again, he would need all the power he could get.

Herbology was a peaceful reprieve. After giving them a short speech about the importance of OWLs, Professor Sprout set them off in groups of three to tend to some Chinese Chomping Cabbages. Harry left Ron, Hermione, and Neville to go partner with Blaise and Tracey. He liked the two Slytherins, and he wanted to get to know them better.

They welcomed him easily, and the trio spent an enjoyable hour chatting over the Cabbages. Harry found the plants fascinating. They were an essential ingredient in Skele-Gro which, even though it tasted vile, was an extremely useful Potion.

When the class was over, Harry hung back to ask Professor Sprout about whether the way the Cabbages were grown had any impact on their potency in Skele-Gro. Professor Sprout seemed overjoyed at his question, and Harry found himself taking notes as she gave him an incredibly in-depth answer.

Finally, she seemed to notice the time.

“Off you go Mr. Potter. I’ll not have you missing lunch on my account.”

Harry thanked her and exited the Greenhouse. He was surprised to find Blaise and Neville waiting for him.

“Ron was starving, and Hermione got so tired of him complaining that she left with him. They didn’t want you to walk back to the castle alone, so I volunteered to stay,” Neville explained.

“And I wanted to walk back with you to see how annoyed I can make Malfoy,” Blaise said with a smirk.

Harry laughed. This was going to be good.

Before the three entered the Great Hall, Blaise draped his arm over casually over Harry’s shoulder.

“Remember to smile, Potter. I don’t want the other Gryffindorks to think I’m trying to hurt you.”

Harry let out a laugh at the nickname. It might have offended some, but he just thought it was funny.

They did, in fact, get a lot of strange looks as they entered the Great Hall. It must have been an odd sight: Blaise Zabini, quintessential Slytherin, walking into the Great Hall flanked by Neville Longbottom and with his arm draped around Harry Potter. Malfoy did look furious, but to Harry’s surprise that was not the reaction that caught his attention.

Professor Snape was giving him a very odd look. For once, he wasn’t glaring. Instead, he was looking at Harry like he was a puzzle Snape wanted to solve. Harry thought he might prefer the glaring.

As Blaise bid them goodbye and went to the Slytherin table, Harry could still feel Snape’s eyes on his back. He didn’t like the feeling. Not at all. He found it difficult to eat with the feel of those eyes on him. Even George, who had come to sit next to him, couldn’t make the anxious feeling go away.

Snape made him nervous. Harry knew that it had a lot to do with Uncle Vernon. He just didn’t like tall men who enjoyed intimidating him. Of course, Snape had never tried to hit him, but his demeanor reminded Harry far too much of his uncle to be comfortable. Harry knew that was part of why he found it so hard to keep his mouth shut around the man. Early in his childhood, Harry had realized that even though he couldn’t fight his uncle physically, he could use his words against the man. That was the true origin of the famous “Potter sass” as Hermione called it.

It was always hardest in the early parts of the school year when Privet Drive was freshest in his mind. He had to consciously remind himself that Snape was not going to punch him in the middle of Potions class.

Giving up on his barely-touched food, Harry decided to head to Divination early. He made his way up to North Tower alone, dismissing the many offers to go with him. He needed to be alone for a bit.

He waited in the comfortable room below the trapdoor, trying to center himself. He was hoping to re-enter the state he had been in that morning. He wanted to learn more about his Animagus form. He wasn’t successful. The anxiety in his chest wasn’t going away. He hated being afraid like this. Snape had just looked at him! He hadn’t even done anything! It didn’t matter though. Harry couldn’t separate Snape’s odd look from the many times his uncle had pretended nothing was wrong only to surprise Harry with violence later. He didn’t like not knowing where he stood.

As the others arrived, the trapdoor opened and the ladder dropped down. Professor Trelawney was her usual, unusual, self. When he found out that they were going to be using Crystal Balls, Harry found himself feeling excited. He had an idea that Spell Sensing might be able to make Crystal Balls effective even when they normally weren’t. He was looking forward to testing the theory.

Sitting in front of his Crystal Ball, Harry focused on extending his magic outward. Slowly but surely, Fuzzy shapes began to form in the smoke that filled the glass ball. As the images grew clearer and clearer, Harry found that he couldn’t look away from them.

_He was in a very strange place. It was a huge, dark, room filled with shelves. Shelf upon shelf of glowing white spheres. They looked very much like Crystal Balls._

_He was moving down the rows of spheres, watching the numbers flick past him._

_89, 90, 91_

_He couldn’t control where he was going. He just kept moving forward._

_94, 95, 96._

_As he stopped in front of row 97, the vision swirled away._

_He was on his knees in the same, dark, room. There was blood on his hands, dripping into a pool around him._

_Screams filled the air._

_They were his own._

Harry snapped back to reality with a gasp. That had been so real. Ron was staring at him, clearly shocked by his reaction.

“You alright, mate?? You’ve been staring at that ball for almost 45 minutes! Did you actually see something?”

Harry nodded, unwilling to say more. He had just seen the future. A future where he was dripping blood onto the floor and screaming in pain. That wasn’t a topic he wanted to share with his best mate. Not now. Probably not ever.

Harry had been lost in the vision for nearly the entire class period, and he soon found himself climbing down the ladder and heading toward Transfiguration.

Transfiguration was another class he was looking forward to. It had been his Dad’s specialty, and Harry wanted to continue his legacy. He also needed to be good at Transfiguration to complete the Animagus transformation. After finding out that he was going to be a bird, Harry was more determined than ever to successfully transform.

McGonagall was her normal, stern, self. She gave them a long speech about the importance of doing well on their OWLs before setting them to work on the vanishing spell. They had never done this spell before and no one was having much success. After half an hour, Even Hermione looked frustrated. Professor McGonagall had warned them that most students took several classes to master this spell, but that had never stopped Hermione before.

Harry, who was also having difficulty with the spell, wondered if Spell Sensing could help him. The skill seemed to be incredibly useful in almost all fields of magic. He might as well try it. It certainly couldn’t make anything worse. He just hoped it wouldn’t hurt the poor snail he was trying to vanish.

He reached his magic out toward the snail. He could hear a steady rhythm coming from the snail which he guessed must be its life force. Keeping some of his magic focused on the snail, he channeled the rest down through his wand arm. He waited, focusing on matching the rhythm of his magic to that of the snail. He had no idea what he was doing. This just seemed intuitive to him. Finally, his magic seemed to sync with the life force of the snail.

Focusing on keeping the connection stable, Harry didn’t notice that Professor McGonagall had come to a stop right in front of the desk where he and Ron were working. Harry concentrated hard on the incantation.

“Evanesco.”

To his complete surprise, the snail disappeared. He felt a brief sense of emptiness as his magic lost hold of the snail. It was then that he noticed Professor McGonagall standing there, gaping at him.

“Mr. Potter! That was some very impressive Transfiguration.”

He blushed a bit and shrugged. Professor McGonagall gave him a hard look before bustling up to the front of the room and pulling a rather large rat from a cage. She carried it back over to Harry and plopped it down on his desk.

“Try it on this. Go on.”

Since the Professor didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving their table, Harry did his best to ignore the feeling of her staring at him. He really didn’t like all this attention. For the second time that day he had to remind himself that he had made a promise to push himself to his limits. He shook off his embarrassment and tried to replicate the process he had done with the snail.

He reached his magic toward the rat, feeling for its inner magic. He knew from Care of Magical Creatures that every living thing contained at least a bit of magic. It was just that most didn’t have enough for it to be noticeable. He finally found the rat’s magic, it had a rhythm like the snail’s had, but it was far more complex. It took a much greater effort on his part to get his magic to match the rhythm of the rat. It took him nearly 30 seconds before he managed it. He focused on maintaining the synchronized rhythm and pointed his wand at the rat.

“Evanesco.”

Just as the snail had done, the rat completely vanished. To Harry’s shock, McGonagall broke out into a wide smile.

“Well done, Potter! Very, very well done! I think that merits 20 points for Gryffindor.”

Harry grinned back at her. He had never seen her look this happy. It was a very nice sight. She leaned toward him, lowering her voice so that no one else could hear.

“I’m glad you’re finally using your full potential, Potter. I expect you to always do so from now on. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She offered him another small smile before she went back to doing rounds through the classroom.

“Blimey, mate. Don’t tell me you’re becoming the new Hermione.”

Harry knew that Ron’s comment was meant as a joke, but he suddenly felt very nervous. Would Hermione hate him for outshining her?

As it turned out, his fears were completely unfounded. As soon as they left the classroom, Hermione gave Harry a tight hug.

“I’m so proud of you, Harry. I’m glad you finally feel safe enough to show us how smart you really are,” she whispered into his ear.

They broke apart, both of them grinning. Harry loved his friends.

Even though they were all exhausted, the day was not yet over. They still had Potions. Harry was very nervous to be around Snape especially after the weird way the man had been looking at him during lunch.

Their journey to Potions was not as peaceful as Harry would have liked it to be. They were walking toward the stairs that led to the dungeons when Harry noticed a tall, seventh-year Hufflepuff approaching. Harry recognized him right away. His name was Michael McManus. He was a Beater on the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team and had the build to match. He was muscular and bulky with blonde hair and hazel eyes. There was a Prefect badge on his robes. Harry remembered that he had been quite good friends with Cedric Diggory.

Harry moved to let the Hufflepuff pass, but McManus had other ideas. As he walked by, he slammed his body roughly into Harry’s, knocking him into the stone wall. Hard.

The impact forced the air from Harry’s lungs, and he slid down the wall to land on the floor. That had hurt.

McManus didn’t acknowledge what he’d just done. He didn’t respond to the outraged cries of Harry’s friends. He just kept walking.

Hermione hurried to help Harry up.

“Are you okay, Harry? I can’t believe he just did that!”

Harry reassured her that he was fine. He’d had much worse than this. Of course, that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. He already had bruises from that Tripping Jink on the stairs. This incident had certainly not helped those bruises feel any better.

Although they had to jog, they made it to Potions on time. Harry decided to partner with Neville that day. He hoped that Snape might focus on him and leave Neville alone.

Just as Harry and Neville had finished setting up their cauldrons, Snape slammed the door as he made his way into the classroom. Harry had to try very hard to keep himself from jumping. He hated it when Snape did that.

Like McGonagall, Snape gave them a speech about the importance of OWLs before setting them to work on the day’s lesson. They were making the Draught of Peace which was a very tricky Potion. It had few ingredients but was very dependent on exact timing.

As he began making the Potion, Harry once again found himself using Spell Sensing. It just made sense to use the ability when making Potions. He found that the Potion had a very distinct sound. It was hypnotic. Instead of relying on the changing colors to know when to add the ingredients, Harry relied on the music he was hearing. It told him everything. Instead of adding the Syrup of Hellebore until the Potion turned turquoise, Harry could hear when he had added enough. He had stopped adding the syrup and several seconds later, the Potion had indeed turned turquoise.

Harry felt completely calm as he worked. The Potion was singing to him, guiding him. He was completely entranced by it. When the Potion was done, it was a vibrant turquoise with a shining silvery vapor rising from it. It was perfect.

Snape passed by his cauldron, giving it a long look. He said nothing. Harry let out a sigh of relief. That had never happened before.

Harry bottled his potion and turned it in along with his summer assignment. He finished packing his bag and followed his friends out of the classroom. Harry did not enjoy the trip back to Gryffindor tower. His body felt like it had been run over by a Hippogriff. As soon as he made it past the Fat Lady, he collapsed onto one of the couches. There was still around an hour before dinner and then he had Quidditch practice. He needed to get some homework done now.

Fortunately, because he had done so well in Charms and Transfiguration, he didn’t have any work for those classes. He did have an essay for History of Magic, another essay for Potions, and a dream diary for Divination.

He set to work on the Potions essay, losing himself in the process. He needed a distraction. This day had been difficult in ways he had never expected. He had made it about halfway through the essay when Hermione nudged him with her foot.

“It’s time for dinner, Harry. You definitely need to eat before Quidditch practice.”

Harry knew she was right. He packed away his things and headed down to the Great Hall. Dinner passed quickly. Harry wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on around him. He felt a ball of anxiety in his chest that just wouldn’t go away. Maybe it was because he had been attacked twice that day. Or may it was because he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had deserved it.

Even Quidditch practice didn’t ease the nervous feeling. While the rest of the team worked on drills, Harry was set loose to hunt for the snitch. He caught it over and over again, relishing the feeling of the cold metal in his hand. He was almost able to forget that his body ached. He was almost able to forget that he was exhausted. When the others left to go back to the castle, Harry stayed in the air. He wanted to fly for just a while longer. He desperately wished that he could just stay in the air. He wanted to transform into his Animagus form and stay that way. Forever.

“Harry!”

A voice shouted from the dark ground below.

“You need to come down now. It’s only 15 minutes to curfew.”

Very reluctantly, Harry turned toward the ground. He really didn’t want to go back. When he reached the ground, he wasn’t surprised to see that it had been George who had waited for him. He seemed to understand Harry better than anyone sometimes.

“Are you alright? You seemed kinda zoned out up there.”

Could he tell George what was going on? He so wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell George that he was worried because other students were attacking him. That he couldn’t even find it in himself to care. That he deserved it. He wanted to tell George that he was scared. Scared because something was wrong with his scar. Scared because he didn’t know how to tell anyone about it. Scared because he had seen a vision of a very dark future. A future he couldn’t stop.

“I’m fine, George. I just love flying, you know that.”

It was a lie.

When they made it back to the Common Room, George stayed with Harry as he finished his homework. They didn’t speak to each other. George seemed to know that just being there was enough.

When Harry finally finished his work, he headed up to bed. He took a quick shower, trying not to focus on the bruises that were already starting to form on his back and shoulder from the collision with McManus. He changed into pajamas and settled into bed. He pulled the two-way mirror onto his lap, cast a silencing charm around his curtains, and forced a smile onto his face.

“Sirius Black.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the mirror’s surface began to ripple. His godfather’s face appeared in the mirror, and Sirius broke into a wide smile.

“Harry! You called!”

Harry spent the next half an hour telling Sirius about his first few days back. He didn’t tell him about his scar. He didn’t tell him about McManus. He didn’t want his godfather to worry about him. When the call ended, Harry sat on his bed, just staring at the closed curtains.

He felt wrong, somehow. His mind was spinning in circles. He couldn’t stop himself from remembering things. Things he absolutely didn’t want to remember. He needed a distraction.

Not knowing what else to do, he picked up the locket from its spot under his pillow and examined it more thoroughly than he ever had before. He needed to find out what it really was. Maybe he could use his Spell Sensing abilities to solve the mystery. He extended his magic toward the locket, expecting to hear the magic in the same way he had before. That wasn’t what happened. Instead, he found his magic being tugged on by the locket, forming a connection he couldn’t break.

It was a good thing Harry had remembered to put a silencing spell around his bed because it was at that very moment that his scar exploded in pain. It was the worst thing he had ever felt. It was worse than the Cruciatus Curse. He couldn’t hold back a scream of agony as he fell back onto his bed, writhing, trying to drop the locket. He couldn’t let go of it. As the pain grew to be too much, the edges of Harry’s vision began to turn gray. He didn’t fight it. He just wanted the pain to stop. It was with that thought that Harry’s world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a long one (and so is this note...sorry)! To be honest, it wasn't meant to be this long, but I got a bit carried away. 
> 
> I just wanted to clarify a few things about the Raw Magical Power stuff. This is not a Super!Harry fic (at all), but I do think that Harry is supposed to be pretty powerful. He is meant to be Voldemort's equal, after all. That being said, Raw Magical Power is just like having a natural talent for something. It's a nice thing to have, but experience will always win out. That's why Harry is still no match for Voldemort or Dumbledore (like, he's not even close at this point).
> 
> Harry's also still going to act like an idiot in this fic sometimes. He's just an idiot who's good at school. I want to show him doing well in classes because he has very real motivation to do so. They are motivations that derive from his guilt, so they are really powerful. Harry will deal with a lot this year (most of it bad), so he needs some good things in his life. His academics will be one of those things. 
> 
> I'm really excited for next chapter! It will be the first real interaction between Umbridge and Harry, and all I have to say is...get ready! Unfortunately, I'm starting classes again this week, so daily updates are over. Updates will now be on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading this fic and a special thanks to those who have commented! You guys make my day!


	14. Underestimating Umbridge

_ The woman was cowering before him, her hand raised in self-defense. She was pleading with him.  _

_ He paid no heed to her begging. She was a worthless muggle. A homeless leech. She would die today. She would die to make him greater.  _

_ His wand rose in one fluid motion. It wasn’t hard to summon the intent.  _

_ “Avada Kedavra.”  _

Harry woke to pain. 

His skull was throbbing with every beat of his heart, a sickening rhythm. He lifted his head slowly, wincing at the movement. Something sticky was coating the side of his face. Looking down with a feeling of dread, Harry saw that there was a rather large stain of blood where his head had just been. He flinched backward, pressing his body against the headboard. What the hell was happening to him? What had happened last night? 

He tried to remember exactly what had caused this. Everything was fuzzy. He remembered trying to distract himself. He had tried to use Spell Sensing on something...but what? Suddenly, it hit him. The locket. 

The locket!! 

He was still wearing it! He ripped it off his neck and threw it to the other end of his bed. Whatever the necklace was, it was evil. There could be no doubt about that now. He finally understood that the locket was producing the memories he had been seeing in his dreams. Worse than that, whoever had owned the locket was a murderer. 

He tried his best not to panic, but it was a losing battle. He could feel his breath catching in his throat, his heart beating a mad rhythm against his ribcage. This was too dark for him to handle. He couldn’t do this alone, but he didn’t think he would be able to tell anyone. Worst of all was the fact that, despite his disgust for the necklace and whoever had owned it, he still felt as if he needed it nearby. Even after the locket had caused him so much pain, had shown him someone being murdered, he was still drawn to it like a moth to a flame. 

He buried his head in his hands, trying desperately to get his breathing under control. He needed to calm down. He had to do something about this. Most importantly, he needed to move before anyone else got up and saw all the blood. 

It was that sense of urgency that drove him from panic to action. He couldn’t let anyone find out about this. He cast a quick Tempus Charm and discovered it was just before 7. He had around fifteen minutes before the other boys would start to wake. He had to clean up the blood. 

It was difficult for him to aim his wand, his body still shaking from the combination of pain and fear. With a great deal of effort, he managed to cast a cleansing charm on his sheets, face, and pajamas, trying not to notice that there was far more blood than there should have been.

He opened his curtains and slid out of bed. As he tried to stand, he was hit with a wave of dizziness. For a moment he feared he might pass out. Thankfully, he didn’t. Once he was steady on his feet, he grabbed the locket from the end of the bed, holding it as far from his body as he could manage. He quickly moved to his trunk. He opened the lid and, after rifling around for a minute, pulled out one of Dudley’s old shirts. He wrapped the locket in the shirt then stuffed it down into the trunk as far as it would go. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but Harry didn’t know what else to do. He still couldn’t be away from the locket for too long without that tugging sensation coming back and, after last night, he definitely couldn’t wear it anymore. This would have to do until he could figure something else out. 

Harry changed into his uniform and headed into the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth, he made the mistake of looking into the mirror. He looked like death. He was so terribly pale that even his lips looked white. His scar had the appearance of a fresh cut rather than a fourteen-year-old wound. 

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do about it now. 

After making sure Ron was awake, he shouldered his bag and headed downstairs. He would go about his day as if nothing had happened. He could do this. 

Unfortunately, his decision to pretend everything was perfectly normal did not prevent several people from staring at him as he entered the Common Room. Hermione, upon seeing him, immediately came over to feel his forehead. After informing him that he felt like an icicle, she proceeded to pester him about going to the Hospital Wing all the way down to breakfast. 

“Hermione, I’m fine! I swear! I just didn’t sleep well.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Harry Potter! I know something is going on!”

Harry let out a sigh. Hermione really was too smart for her own good. Of course, she would never buy that he had merely had a bad night. He looked far too much like a zombie for that. He would tell her some of the truth. Not all of it. Just enough for her to understand. Lowering his voice, he explained. 

“It was my scar, okay? It just really hurt last night, and this is the result.”

“Harry, if your scar is hurting again, you need to tell Dumbledore”

“No.”

It came out much too harshly, and Hermione looked taken aback. Inwardly cursing himself for yelling at his friend just for trying to help, he softened his tone. 

“Look, it’s happened before, okay? I know how to handle this. Promise”

“Okay. But, Harry, you have to tell someone if it gets worse. It’s just, you look really ill, and I’m scared for you.”

She appeared ready to cry. 

“I promise I will. Please don’t be upset, Hermione.” He hated making his friend worry like this. She shouldn’t have to worry about him. 

“Why don’t you tell me how you think DADA will be?”

As Harry had hoped, talking about classes perked Hermione right up. 

Breakfast passed quickly with Hermione chattering about how hard this year was going to be, Ron complaining about homework, and the twins trying to turn Neville’s eggs green. Checking his schedule, Harry could see that it would be yet another long day. Worst of all, they had their first class with Umbridge right before lunch. 

That morning, throughout Transfiguration and Charms, Harry could feel his dread mounting. He was worried about the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. If he had a say, he would never be in the same room as Delores Umbridge ever again. He didn’t like the way she looked at him. 

At first, Harry thought that everything would be fine. Boring, but fine. The class itself had passed at a snail’s pace. After Umbridge had shared that they wouldn’t be using any magic, she had made them spend the entire period just sitting at their desks reading the first chapter of the Slinkhard book. It was utter nonsense. Harry wondered if Slinkhard might be a criminal himself. That was the only reasonable explanation Harry could think of for why his defensive advice was so bad. Either that or the man was a complete idiot. 

It was as the bell rang and they all started to rush out of the classroom to head to lunch that things took a turn for the worse. 

“Mr. Potter,” came the sickeningly-sweet voice of Professor Umbridge. 

“Would you please remain behind?” 

All his instincts were screaming at him to leave, but he knew he didn’t really have a choice. He stood in front of her desk, waiting for the rest of the class to file out of the classroom. 

She gave him a sickening smile. 

“Mr. Potter, I feel we have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

What the hell?

“I wanted to give you the chance to start over.”

Wait, what?

“After all, you are just a little boy who has been dragged into a powerful man’s lies. It’s not fair for me to hold that against you.”

Oh, she was trying to get him to admit he was lying. Or something like that? This woman confused him.

“I wanted to give you the opportunity to tell me the truth. Just the two of us. Now, can you tell me what really happened on the night Cedric Diggory was killed?”

Harry could hear his blood pounding in his ears. He wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. 

“I’ve already told the truth, Professor. He was killed when Voldemort returned.”

The smile dropped off Umbridge’s face. 

“I was afraid of this. You are in dire need of guidance, Mr. Potter. Without your parents here to show you right from wrong, it seems that you never learned that it is wrong to tell lies.”

Anger was coursing through him. How dare this woman? How dare she?

“I haven’t lied,” He spat at her, rage coloring his words. 

It was unnerving how pleased she seemed by his anger. Her smile returned. 

“That’s another lie. Detention, Mr. Potter. For the rest of this week. You need to learn not to tell such lies to people who are only trying to help you. I’ll see you in my office at 5 pm. Dismissed.”

He left the classroom, trying his best not to kick the door as he left. He couldn’t believe how angry she made him. As he made his way down to the Great Hall, his rage faded. It was replaced by something much worse: fear. 

Harry knew he was brave. After all, he had fought a Basilisk, giant spiders, Dementors, and Voldemort. Harry also knew that being brave wasn’t the same as being immune to fear. Harry was afraid of too many things to count. He was afraid of losing his friends. He was afraid of the Dursleys. He was afraid of failing the people around him. And, no matter how much he might want to deny it, he was afraid of Delores Umbridge. 

She reminded him of Aunt Petunia. Umbridge had the same look of disgust in her eyes when she looked at him. She was someone who dressed herself up in flowery niceness to conceal the evil beneath. She was someone who could hurt him and enjoy it. 

Lunch didn’t go particularly well for Harry. He felt like the walls of the Great Hall were about to close in on him. He was shaky and nervous. He couldn’t stop thinking about the detention with Umbridge that night. Something about the sick smile on her face made him think that it wouldn’t be anything as easy as lines. 

The only bright spot was his friends’ reactions to the detentions. They were all outraged. Outraged and sympathetic. Angelina’s reaction was his favorite. She called Umbridge a foul bitch and then immediately told the rest of the team that Quidditch practices would be moved to the morning until Harry was done with detention. Harry could have hugged her. 

After lunch, they headed to History of Magic where Harry began working on the homework they had been given for Charms and Transfiguration. He wouldn’t put it past Umbridge to hold him until curfew that night. With the amount of homework they had, these detentions were going to make his life a lot more difficult. 

Care of Magical Creatures, despite Hagrid’s absence, proved to be rather enjoyable. They were studying Bowtruckles that day. The long, stick-like creatures were quite fascinating. Harry found the process of drawing one to be relaxing. The only problem came when Harry tried to become friends with the Bowtruckle. He reached his magic out to the Bowtruckle in the same way he had reached out to the snail and the rat the day before. He had just been trying to calm it down so it would be easier to draw, but after he had linked to the Bowtruckle’s magic, it became weirdly attached to him. It kept climbing up his hand and trying to wrap itself around his wrist like a living bracelet. No matter how adorable it was, it did make drawing the thing pretty difficult.

Harry didn’t realize the depth of his mistake until he tried to leave class. The Bowtruckle freaked out. It started making a high-pitched keening sound and refused to let go of him. Finally, Harry gave up and allowed the Bowtruckle to accompany him to Herbology. Thankfully, Professor Sprout had a supply of enhanced Woodlice that distracted the Bowtruckle enough that it seemed to forget about him. 

Hermione thought the whole thing was rather hilarious and pointed out that Harry was very much like a Disney princess. 

“You’re literally attracting woodland creatures” she pointed out, giggling madly. 

Harry did not appreciate the comparison, but he enjoyed seeing her look so happy. 

After Herbology ended, Harry had to hurry back to the castle to make it to Umbridge’s office in time. The woman had scheduled it so that he had only ten minutes to make it from his last class to detention. Harry wondered if she hoped he would be late so she would have an excuse to assign him more detentions. 

When Harry arrived at Umbridge’s office, sweaty and red in the face from running across the grounds, he thought for a moment that he had misjudged her. It looked like he would just be doing lines. There was a desk set up in the corner of her office with a small stack of parchment and a quill laying there innocently. Umbridge gestured for him to sit down. Once he was settled, she gave him another of her falsely sweet smiles. 

“You’ll be doing lines for me today Mr. Potter. I want you to write,  _ I must not tell nasty, attention-seeking lies.” _

Harry tried not to flinch at the venom in her tone. Those were horrible words. That was what Aunt Petunia had called him when he had once tried to tell his primary school teacher about the cupboard. 

“How many times?”

She smiled wider. 

“For as long as it takes for the message to leave its mark.” 

Not yet understanding the implications of that last statement, Harry picked up the spiky black quill, preparing to write. It was then he noticed that something was missing. 

“I don’t have any ink.”

“You won’t need ink.”

What? Maybe it was a self-inking quill?

Harry set the quill to the parchment and began to write. 

_ I must not tell nasty, attention-seeking lies. _

He let out a gasp of pain. A sudden burning sensation had started on the underside of his left arm. He rolled up his sleeve with shaking hands. There, spanning from just below the crook of his elbow to several inches above his wrist, were the words he had just written. They were carved into his arm. He watched, horrified, as a drop of blood dripped from his arm onto the desk. As soon as it hit the surface, it vanished. Umbridge had clearly charmed the desk to hide all signs of what she was doing. 

It was only then that he noticed that Umbridge had come to stand in front of him. 

“Keep writing, dear. You need to do this. It will help you learn.”

Fighting back his rising nausea, Harry continued to write. 

_ I must not tell nasty, attention-seeking lies.  _

He wrote and wrote. Unaware of the sun setting in the window. Unaware of Umbridge ordering dinner from a House-elf and watching him with a smirk marring her toad-like features. His only focus was on the pain. He did his best not to show how much it hurt to carve these words into his arm over and over and over again. 

After a while, the pain from the cuts began to spread. Shooting pains spasmed down through his left hand and up into his shoulder. With every letter, his right hand shook. He tried to remind himself that he had been through worse. He had been hungry before, hurt before. He had spent weeks locked in a cupboard. He could do this. He could do this and not show how much it pained him. 

So, he wrote, his face an impassive mask. With every word he felt his resolve crumbling. He wanted to stop. He wanted the pain to stop. What kept him going was not stubbornness or strength. It was not noble ideals about bearing pain with stoicism. It was guilt that drove him. Because, deep down, Harry felt that he deserved this pain. He felt that maybe, if he bore this pain without complaint, it might help make up for some of the pain he had caused. 

Blood dripped from the wounds, forming rivers down his arm. He didn’t know how much blood he had lost. He was glad it disappeared. He didn’t want to see the reality of what was being done to him, what he was doing to himself. 

After an eternity, Umbridge’s voice broke the silence. 

“Come here, Mr. Potter.”

He rose to his feet, every limb shaking. He moved over to her desk, trying not to meet her eyes. She reached out a pudgy hand and gripped his wrist, prodding at the cuts with one of her hot-pink fingernails. 

“Good. This is a very good start. I need to be sure that we’ll keep this just between us, Mr. Potter. If you were to let slip what had happened here tonight I may need to hand out some detentions to your friends.”

He snapped his head up to stare at her. She smiled at him sweetly. 

“I also may have to interfere with Arthur Weasley’s job. I have quite a lot of power at the Ministry. If I want him gone, he’ll be gone. You wouldn’t want that. Would you?”

No, he didn’t want any of that. He shook his head, feeling sick. 

“You’ll tell them that we did lines. You will bandage your arm. You will keep your sleeves down. You will say nothing to anyone. Am I understood?”

“yes, Ma’am.” 

“Good. I just want to make sure you understand. What will you say you did?”

Harry answered robotically. He didn’t know what else to do. 

“Lines.”

“What will you do for your arm?”

“Bandage it.”

“Will you roll up your sleeves?”

“No.”

“Who will you tell about this?”

“No one.” 

“Very good. You are learning, Mr. Potter.”

She patted his hand before releasing his arm. 

“I will see you at the same time tomorrow. You may go.”

Harry stumbled from the office, clutching his robe sleeves in his hands. He had pulled them all the way down to hide the bloody wound. It was 9:30, so he still had half an hour before curfew. He hurried to the nearest boy’s bathroom and slammed into a stall, locking the door firmly behind him. 

He rolled up his sleeve, trying not to look too hard at the deep cuts that spanned most of his forearm. He muttered a quick cleansing spell which removed the fresh and dried blood from the wounds. The words stood out so clearly against his pale skin, glistening and horrific. A muttered “ferula” hid the cuts beneath fresh, white bandages. He pulled his sleeve back down and tried to forget. 

He was barely aware as he made the journey back to Gryffindor tower. He found his friends waiting for him. He felt as if another person was speaking with his voice as he robotically told them that he had just done lines. 

He sat with them in the Common Room, doing homework. Trying to pretend that the smallest movement of his left arm didn't burn like fire. Trying to pretend that he didn’t want to start screaming. 

When he finally lay in bed that night, Harry let the pain of the day wash through him. He let himself feel. He didn’t cry. He had stopped crying long ago when he realized that no one was coming to save him. Instead, he let the anger, disgust, fear, and guilt pass through his body. He let the mask on his face break. In the dark, with his arm throbbing, Harry forgot that anything other than pain existed. 


	15. The Seeds of Resistance

The rest of the week was a haze of pain. Harry went through the motions as well as he could manage. He got up early every morning and went to Quidditch practice. He caught the Snitch and dodged Bludgers. He did all his homework to diligent perfection. He laughed at jokes and smiled at his friends. He played the role of normal, happy student so well that no one would ever suspect the horrors he faced every night. 

Every night he carved words deeper and deeper into his arm. Every night he watched his blood filling page after page of parchment. 

After the second night of detention he knew that the terrible words would never fully fade. He would bear these scars forever. 

He told no one. Not Sirius. Not Remus. Not his Friends. He kept his arm bandaged and hidden. He reassured them that he was just doing lines. 

Every single day, he lied. 

The detentions were not his only problem. Despite his decision to hide the locket in his trunk, foreign memories still haunted his dreams. What little sleep he managed was filled with murder, dark hallways, and the graveyard of Little Hangleton. 

The combination of sleep-deprivation, hunger from missing dinner every night that week, and the terrible pain of his left arm made it difficult for Harry to feel anything other than despair. He had never had a worse week at Hogwarts. The only good thing that had happened to him was getting back the results of his summer assignments. He had managed an Outstanding on all of them. The only one that hadn’t been returned was Potions, but Harry was confident in that essay. It had been his best one. 

Just when Harry thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, he came back from his detention on Thursday evening to find his friends sitting in the Common Room looking murderous. They explained that at dinner that evening, Dumbledore had announced that Umbridge would be taking the position of co-headmistress. She would share equal power with Dumbledore. When Hermione explained that the decision had been Dumbledore's, not the Ministry's, Harry almost fell off his chair in shock.

“Why on earth would he agree to that?” Harry questioned, dread filling him at the thought of Umbridge having that much power. 

“I think he did it so that he could keep things from getting too much worse,” George offered thoughtfully. 

When everyone turned to stare at him in confusion, he continued, 

“Think about it, at least this way Dumbledore controls some of the power she gets. By agreeing to it, he makes himself look good in the press. That means that the Ministry won’t be able to justify passing sweeping reforms at Hogwarts. If they do that, they’ll be implying that Umbridge, and by extension Fudge, is doing a bad job. This way, the Ministry doesn’t have a reason to interfere in more extreme ways. Plus, they still have to make unanimous decisions regarding expulsion, firing, and major rule-changes. I think he’s doing his best to protect the students and staff from her. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the alternative.” 

George’s logic made a lot of sense. Harry knew that people had been pushing for reforms at Hogwarts. By giving Umbridge equal power, Dumbledore had ensured that those demanding reforms would be satisfied while also putting himself in a perfect position to check Umbridge’s power.

Even though he understood exactly why Dumbledore had chosen to do this, Harry still felt betrayed. He knew that Dumbledore had no way of knowing what Umbridge was doing to him, but that didn’t change the fact that he had just given her the kind of power that would allow her to keep hurting him. As headmistress, her ability to assign detentions would be unchecked. If she wanted, she could have him cutting his arm open every day from now until the end of the year. Harry wasn’t sure he could survive that.

Trying to take his mind off the amount of power Umbridge had just been handed, Harry turned to his homework. They had another Potions essay due the next day, and Harry was determined to give it everything he had. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t notice as the others headed off to bed.

As it neared midnight, the only people left in the Common Room were him and George.

“Hey, Harry?”

George’s voice broke through his concentration, shattering the silence of the empty Common Room.

“Yeah?”

“Are you really okay?”

Harry jerked his head up from his book. Why did George always know when something was bothering him?

“Yes, George. I’m fine.”

George rolled his eyes.

“You literally always say that.”

“Well, it’s _literally_ always true.”

George let out a wry laugh.

“I don’t think that’s why.”

Silence fell for a moment. Then George looked right into his eyes.

“If you really are fine, Harry, then I’m glad. If you aren’t, I want you to know that you can tell me anything. Always.”

George looked so sincere, brown eyes gleaming with emotion, that Harry almost told him. He almost pulled up his sleeve to reveal the marks Umbridge had left. Terrified by his own weakness, Harry quickly lowered his eyes. 

He couldn’t tell George what was going on. He just couldn’t. George would tell someone, probably an adult. George didn’t yet understand that adults couldn’t fix everything. He didn’t know what it was like to live without an advocate, at the mercy of those in power. He didn’t know what it felt like to be hurt instead of protected. Harry never wanted him to know. He wouldn’t allow George to be subjected to the horrors of the quill. He would rather write until all his blood was gone than allow George to carve even a single word into his skin. 

Harry kept his silence, hoping that someday George would forgive him.

When dawn broke the next day, Harry had never been so happy for it to be Friday. Today marked his last detention with Umbridge. Hopefully, he could stay detention-free for a while.

Harry’s wish was thwarted during Potions. It was a double-period, and Snape had spent the entire time lecturing. It was a fascinating topic though Harry could have done without the plethora of insults to their intelligence that peppered the Professor’s lecture. Just before class ended, Snape handed back their summer assignments.

To Harry’s dismay, he had not gotten a good score. Not at all. At the top of his neatly written essay was a large, red, zero. Just beneath the zero were the words “Stay after class.” 

Harry felt his breath hitch in his chest. He didn’t want to be alone with Snape, especially if the man was angry. 

Fighting back his fear, Harry waited awkwardly while the rest of the classroom emptied. Snape, seeming to enjoy his discomfort, allowed him to stand there like an idiot for several minutes before he spoke. 

“Well, Potter, you never cease to amaze me.”

He paused, looking at Harry like he would very much like to turn him into Potions ingredients.

“I honestly didn’t think you could get any more arrogant or bone-headed than you already were. It seems I was mistaken.”

“Sir? I don’t underst…”

“I saw you with Zabini, and I thought you might have finally decided to better yourself by associating with more worthy companions than your normal band of misfits.”

Harry bristled. Why did Snape think it was okay to insult his friends?

“It was, of course, incredibly foolish of me to think that you would genuinely try to become friends with a Slytherin. After I read your supposed Potions assignment, I finally understood.”

Harry didn’t understand what Snape meant by “supposed.” What did he think Harry had done? 

“Blaise Zabini is quite good at Potions, Potter.”

“I know that, sir. He’s really smart.”

“Of course you know that, Potter. Otherwise, why would you have made him write your Potions assignment for you?” 

For a moment, all Harry could do was stare at Snape. The man thought he had cheated? Before Harry could begin to defend himself, Snape continued, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. 

“You couldn’t be bothered to do even a shred of work could you, Potter?” 

“Sir, I didn’t ch…”

“Doing your own work is something beneath the great Harry Potter, isn’t it? You are clearly too special to...”

“I DIDN’T CHEAT!!”

Harry didn’t know what made him yell, but he was just so tired of being called a liar. Snape stopped speaking, moving from behind his desk to stand in front of Harry. He was much too close, and Harry was painfully aware of the fact that Snape was much taller than him. 

“Don’t lie to me, Potter.” 

Harry took a step back from the man, shaking slightly. 

“I’m not lying, Sir. I worked hard on this assignment. It was done before I even got to Hogwarts.”

Snape snorted. 

“As if you’re capable of doing work this good, Potter. You should have at least tried to make it believable.”

Harry didn’t know what to do. Snape would never believe him. No one ever did. 

“I think this warrants 50 points from Gryffindor.”

Harry looked up at the man in horror. Snape just smirked at him.

“And Detention. Tomorrow. 9 am. I have some cauldrons that need cleaning. It’ll be good for you to finally experience what hard work is like.”

There was nothing he could say. He had no defence. He simply left the classroom. He was having a hard time getting his breathing under control. He felt dangerously disconnected from his surroundings. He stumbled toward the nearest bathroom. Once inside, he felt the panic take over him. He kept seeing flashes of similar scenes at the Dursleys. Times when he had been accused of lying, cheating, stealing. Times when he had been hit, locked away, starved. 

As the memories continued to flood his mind, his heart rate increased, his breathing becoming more ragged. Merlin, he couldn’t breathe. He was back in his cupboard. Uncle Vernon was coming. He was going to…

“Harry Potter, Sir!!” A tiny high-pitched voice broke through his panic. A tiny glass vial was brought to his lips. 

“You be drinking this, Harry Potter!”

Not having the strength to resist, Harry swallowed the liquid. It was silky and tasted like peppermint. Harry recognized it as a Calming Draught. After a few moments, his heart rate slowed, and he once again knew where he was. He was in the bathroom at Hogwarts. He wasn’t in his cupboard. He was fine. Everything was fine. 

“Dobby?” He asked incredulously.

Sure enough, right in front of him stood the odd House-elf. He was looking uncharacteristically serious. 

“Yes, Harry Potter, Sir. It is Dobby. Dobby be cleaning, and he sees Mr. Harry Potter Sir leaving nasty Snapey’s classroom looking all pale and shaky. Dobby was worried so Dobby followed. Good thing Dobby did. Sir had nasty flashback.” 

Harry suddenly felt very ashamed. He had never wanted anyone to see him in that state. He had always been alone when he had gotten lost in memories like that. Dobby looked at him sternly. 

“It’s nothing to bes ashamed of. It just means that you has been through hard things. You is very strong and brave, Harry Potter.”

Harry offered Dobby a weak smile. 

“Thanks, Dobby. You’re the best.”

Dobby looked so happy, Harry feared for a moment he might spontaneously combust. 

“Harry Potter is truly a great wizard. He is also a great wizard who is late for Herbology.”

Dobby was right. Harry was quite late for Herbology. He raced out of the bathroom and dashed through the grounds. He made it to Herbology nearly 20 minutes late. Thankfully, the others had told Professor Sprout that Snape had kept him back, so she just smiled at him before telling him to join a workstation. 

During dinner, Harry told his friends all about his conversation with Snape and his detention tomorrow. They were all understandably furious. What surprised Harry was just how mad George was. He looked like he might march up to the Head Table and punch Snape right in his crooked nose. 

“That utter GIT!” George muttered, stabbing his potatoes aggressively. 

“You’re brilliant at Potions. No way Zabini could have written that essay. He’s good, but he’s not nearly as good as you.”

Harry blushed a bit at the compliment. 

“It’s okay, George. It’s just scrubbing cauldrons. It’ll be fine.”

“It’s NOT fine. It’s SO not fine. You’ve been in detention all week. You’re exhausted, and Snape is messing with you because he’s too blind to see what a talented, kind, brave...” 

George broke off, snapping his jaw shut with a click, his cheeks suddenly very red. 

“Anyway, it’s just not fair.”

“No, it’s really not.” Hermione said sadly. 

“I hoped he would get over his grudge against you. He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t be acting like this.” 

Harry agreed with her, but he didn’t see what he could do about it. He wished that someday Snape would be able to see him and not his father. Today was clearly not that day. He would just keep trying. Someday he would prove Snape wrong. Until then, he would just have to be the better man. 

Harry’s resolve to not let Snape get to him was the only thing that got him through his detention the next day. He had arrived ten minutes before 9 to find nearly 20 disgusting cauldrons waiting for him. He had started scrubbing, trying to ignore the periodic insults Snape would toss his way. He had worked for hours, scrubbing at the congealed Potions until his hands were dry and cracking. He had just finished his 15th cauldron, when the door flew open. 

Standing in the doorway, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen her, was Professor McGonagall. Snape recovered from his shock quicker than Harry. 

“Minerva, what do I owe the…”

“Don’t even start, Severus.” She growled at him, turning towards Harry. 

“Potter, leave those cauldrons. You’re done here. Go up and wait for me in my office.” 

“Minerva, he’s in the middle of detent…”

“Go, Potter.”

Harry turned on his heel, grabbed his bag, and flew out the door. He made it quickly to Professor McGonagall’s office. She had left the door unlocked, and he sat perched on a chair in front of her desk, waiting for her to come back. He had no earthly idea what was going on. 

When she returned, nearly fifteen minutes later, Professor McGonagall was red in the face and still looked furious. Harry shrunk back slightly, worried she was going to yell at him. She looked at him sharply. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Potter. You’re not in trouble.” 

At Harry’s audible sigh of relief, Professor McGonagall let out a chuckle. A slightly awkward silence fell before Professor McGonagall let out a long sigh. 

“I want to speak plainly to you, Potter. Professor Snape had no right to do what he did. I have restored Gryffindor’s points and convinced him to give you the Outstanding you deserved on that assignment. If he ever baselessly accuses you of cheating again, you come to me, alright?”

Harry nodded. 

“I’m afraid that I can’t do anything about Professor Umbridge’s detentions. I know that they are completely unfair. I’m terribly sorry, Potter.”

She looked it. 

“It’s alright, Professor.”

“It’s not. I should be able to help you.”

She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing her bun. 

“Listen, I know it’s difficult to feel as if you have no power. But, Harry, you do have power.”

Harry startled at her use of his first name. 

“You won’t win every battle, but you’re allowed to fight. You’re allowed to stand up for yourself, Harry. I see you protecting people all the time, but you never protect yourself. Please, if you need help, ask for it.” 

His professor looked almost ready to cry. 

“I will, Professor.”

“Good.” She pulled a tin of shortbread cookies off her desk. 

“Now, take a shortbread and be off with you!”

Harry, still baffled by how that conversation had gone, took the offered cookie and left the classroom. 

As he walked to the library, where he suspected he would find at least some of his friends, he reflected on Professor McGonagall’s words. 

_You won’t win every battle, but you’re allowed to fight._

_You’re allowed to stand up for yourself._

She was right. Maybe he couldn’t stop Umbridge from giving him those detentions, but there were other ways he could stand up for himself.

He was going to fight back, and he knew just the person to help him do it. 

“Hermione,” he hissed as soon as he got to her table in the library. 

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” 

She looked up at him, a crease of concern appearing between her brows. 

“Of course,” she whispered back to him. 

“Just let me pack up, we can go onto the grounds.” 

Out on the grounds, away from prying ears, Hermione turned to him. 

“What’s going on?”

Harry took a breath, steeling himself. 

“I want to fight back against the Ministry and against Umbridge.”

“Oh, Harry!” She squealed.

“I’m so glad! I’ve been thinking of ways to take them down for ages, but I didn’t want to do anything before you were ready.” 

Harry laughed a bit. It was so typical of Hermione to already have plans. 

“What ideas do you have?” 

She frowned, looking a bit nervous. 

“Well, most importantly, we need to get the public on your side. Right now, Fudge has completely suppressed the truth. Even those within the Ministry who don’t agree with him are afraid to speak out because they’ll face huge backlash and likely be fired.”

Harry nodded. He had expected this. 

“How do we do that? I mean, the Daily Prophet is hardly going to print my version of the story, are they?”

Hermione shook her head. 

“No, they won’t. But they aren’t the only newspaper in Wizarding Britain. We’re going to use Magical Monthly.”

At Harry’s confused look, Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. 

“Honestly, they’re one of the most well-known wizarding newspapers. They’re owned by the same company that makes Witch Weekly, and they publish really credible, well-researched articles. They have a similar readership to the Daily Prophet, they just come out much less frequently. That’s probably why you’ve never seen one.” 

“That’s great, but how do we get them to print my story?”

Hermione blushed slightly.

“I’ve got that covered.”

“How?”

“Well, I’ve been writing to Viktor, and…”

“Krum?”

“Obviously. Anyway, he’s been really upset by the way the media has been treating you. There’s going to be a piece about him in the November issue of Magical Monthly, and he wants to talk about the Triwizard Tournament. He asked me if you wanted to join him for the interview. The editor already signed off. They know it’ll make for a great story.”

Harry just stared at her. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

She looked at him sadly, biting her lower lip. 

“I didn’t think you were ready to talk about it.”

She was right. Even now, the thought of trying to explain what had happened that night made him want to hide. That didn’t matter. He needed to be strong. 

“When would we do the interview?”

“They were planning to meet us at the Three Broomsticks on the first Hogsmeade weekend at the end of September. You don’t have to do it, Harry, but I really think you should.”

She turned to him, looking straight into his eyes. 

“We need people to know that V-Voldemort’s back. Not just for you, but for all of us.” 

Harry was in awe of his friend. He had never heard her use Voldemort’s name before. 

“I will. You’re right. This isn’t just about me. We need to be prepared.” 

He waited a moment, unsure if he really wanted to say the next part of his plan. 

“Um, Hermione? I think we need to make sure the other students know how to defend themselves. With Voldemort back, it’s only a matter of time before they’ll need to know basic defensive methods. Umbridge certainly isn’t going to teach them that.” 

He really hoped that she didn’t think it was a stupid idea. 

“That’s an excellent idea, Harry. I was already thinking of forming a Defense club. There’s only one condition I have: you have to teach it. 

Before he could protest she continued. 

“Don’t argue, Harry. You learned most of the Defense curriculum before the Third Task. You are far more advanced than anyone else. Plus, you have real-world experience that no one else has.”

As Hermione continued to ramble about how their defense club would work, Harry could feel hope rising in him for the first time in months. It was time to fight back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry has decided to take some actions against the Ministry, yay! I changed quite a bit about the dynamics of Umbridge at Hogwarts because I think Dumbledore would have been smarter to give her power voluntarily early on. Pretending to cooperate will be better for the students, so that's what he's going to do. I also invented a newspaper because I refuse to believe that the Daily Prophet is the only Wizarding newspaper. Especially with the quality of stuff they write. They literally got HARRY POTTER'S age wrong in the article about the Triwizard Tournament (Which is a fact that most wizards would know because Harry is famous). 
> 
> Also, Snape and Harry's relationship will get better, but first, it will get worse. I think Snape has a lot of potential as a character, but there needs to be a realistic explanation for him having a change of heart. I have one planned, don't worry :) 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading!! Next chapter coming Saturday!


	16. Snakes and Secret Societies

Harry soon discovered that establishing an underground student organization was no easy feat. There were quite a few details that needed to be ironed out before they would be able to meet for the first time. In one of his empty notebooks, Harry had come up with a preliminary list of the elements they would need to make the club a success: a secure location, a method of covert communication, and a way to ensure that the club was kept a secret.

Harry added a caveat to that last point. While he wanted to keep the nature of their club secret from everyone but those involved, he also wanted the existence of the club to be clear. He wanted to design a symbol for the group that would show their unity without demonstrating their purpose. He wanted Umbridge to know they were up to something while simultaneously making it impossible for her to discover what they were actually doing. He knew that it would drive her insane. It would be his own personal act of revenge against the Toad.

The first step in all of this was to scope out potential members. It was for this purpose that Harry gathered together his closest friends in the Gryffindor Common Room on Sunday afternoon. As he watched Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, and Neville brainstorming how to find people who would be interested, Harry felt a surge of pride. His friends were amazing. He had absolute faith that they would locate all the potential recruits in Hogwarts. Each of them had friends in other houses, and they had all decided to use those contacts to find potential allies throughout the school. With each of their friends asking around, it wouldn't be difficult to create a network of communication.

Hopefully by the end of the week, they would have a preliminary list of members. Harry wanted students from every house and from every year group. He believed that everyone, regardless of age, blood-status, or house had a right to learn how to defend themselves.

While his friends worked on finding members, Harry would be working on the problem of securing a location and developing a method of communication.

For the first problem, Harry knew exactly who to ask. On Sunday evening, he shut his curtains tightly, cast a silencing spell, and whispered,

"Dobby?"

The House-elf appeared right in front of Harry, wearing an exorbitant number of hats and a wide grin.

"How can Dobby be helping Harry Potter?" Dobby asked, his excitement coming off him in waves. Harry leaned in close to the elf, trying to convey the seriousness of his request.

"I need a place to train students to defend themselves. It needs to be big enough for us all to practice, but we have to be able to keep it hidden. Do you know of anything like that, Dobby?"

To Harry's utter shock and delight, Dobby did, in fact, know of a place just like that. As he explained the concept of the Come-and-Go Room also known as the Room of Requirement, Harry once again felt truly hopeful. If Dobby was right about this room, they might actually be able to pull this off without getting caught.

Not wanting to waste any time, Harry decided to check out the Room of Requirement as soon as Dobby had popped away. It was just after midnight, but Harry would much rather do something productive than face another night of horror-filled dreams.

He pulled on his invisibility cloak, grabbed the Marauder's Map, and headed up to the 7th floor. He found the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy and turned to face the empty wall opposite it. Just as Dobby had directed him, he paced in front of the empty wall three times, thinking hard of a place where they could learn to defend themselves.

After his third pass, a nondescript door appeared in the wall. Opening it, Harry found himself in a large room. He couldn't hold back a huge grin as he examined the space. It was perfect. There was a blackboard, practice dummies, ample space for spell-casting, and enough cushions to ensure that the students would be safe if anyone's spells became over-enthusiastic.

The only problem was that Harry didn't know how many other people knew about this room. He simply couldn't risk it being found.

The only solution he could think of was to cast a Fidelius Charm over the room. He knew the spell could only be performed by extremely powerful wizards. Before the exercise in Charms that had revealed the true extent of his raw magical power, Harry never would have thought himself capable of casting it. Now, however, he had a fairly strong suspicion that he would be able to cast the spell.

Because of the secrecy and scale of this organization, however, he would need to modify the charm. Normally, the Secret Keeper could only share the knowledge of the location by word of mouth or by writing down the location and showing it to someone. Harry couldn't risk doing that. In a school of this size, he would never be able to tell everyone the location without being overheard. The same thing went for writing it down. His handwriting would be recognized, and anyone might stumble upon the paper.

He hoped to attach the spell to an object. Anyone in possession of that object would know the location. Harry was fully aware of how difficult this would be. Applying such complex magic to an object, especially if it was being done with original spells, would take any spell-crafter months. Luckily for Harry, he had a unique talent up his sleeve: Parseltongue.

One thing Harry had learned in the reading he had done in the Black Library at Grimmauld Place was that Parseltongue was far more versatile as a spell-crafting language than Latin. Because the words themselves were already magical, they could meld with the Magical Structure of any spell. For that reason, as long as they had enough power, Parselmouths could accomplish a lot with intent-based magic.

Once he had learned this, Harry couldn't understand why Voldemort didn't do all his casting in Parseltongue. He would be able to accomplish so much. As he had done more research, Harry had discovered that the reason Voldemort didn't cast in Parseltongue was that he was incapable of doing so. Casting in Parseltongue had a magical requirement that Voldemort did not meet. Parseltongue was the language of snakes. Snakes were predators, naturally, but they did not have mal-intent in the same way humans did. Snakes did not kill out of hate or a desire to do so, they did so out of necessity.

The characteristic of snakes meant that in order to cast in Parseltongue, the human in question must not have committed murder. Murdering someone changed your magic, morphing and twisting it into something out of balance with the natural world. Voldemort would be able to use Parseltongue to speak to snakes, but he would never be able to use it in his casting.

Harry, who had only ever killed in self-defense, was magically compatible with casting in Parseltongue. He was likely the only person alive who would be able to cast with it. The ability to use Parseltongue in spell-creation would make designing the Fidelius-linked-object much easier.

Although a Parselmouth could, in theory, use Parseltongue on any object, Harry was not an ordinary Parselmouth. Because he had gained the ability from another Wizard, Harry still needed to be faced with a snake-like image in order to speak Parseltongue. For this reason, he decided that the object needed to resemble a snake.

It didn't take long for Harry to come up with the perfect idea. He wanted something that would subtly show their unity without giving them away. The object needed to be small but difficult to lose. The solution was clear: a ring.

He would craft small snakes out of metal. Then, he could use Parseltongue to charm them to bite their own tails when they were introduced to their rightful owner. When the snake bit its tail, they would form perfect rings. Harry liked the idea of having an Ouroboros (a snake biting its tail) as the symbol for their group because it represented eternity. It would show their unending loyalty to one another and to the cause.

With his Parseltongue abilities he would be able to imbue the rings with much more magic than one could usually put on an object. He could link them to the Fidelius, key them to respond to only one person, code them with secrecy charms, and make them into communication devices.

The secrecy charms would be difficult to accomplish. He wanted to make it so that people would only be able to speak of the club with people who also wore the rings. That way, no one could reveal their secret either accidentally or with the intention of betraying them.

Harry could also turn them into communication devices. He guessed that if he linked the rings together, he would be able to send messages to anyone wearing one. If he included a translation spell on everyone else's rings, he should be able to get any messages he spoke to his ring to appear in English on the bands of the other rings. The rings should also be able to alert the members to danger.

Harry sighed, taking a moment to think about the monumental nature of the task ahead of him. Even with the advantage of Parseltongue, this was going to be very difficult. Sure, he would be able to design spells without doing Arithmancy, but he still needed to ask for very specific things in Parseltongue. He would need to think of every detail and create strict parameters. Parselmagic also took a lot of power and concentration. Because it was purely intent-based, there was nothing to help channel the magic. It was a good thing Harry didn't sleep much because he was going to have to work around the clock if he wanted to get these done this week.

He would begin working on the rings tomorrow. Once they were done he would cast the Fidelius charm. Then, once his friends had the list of members created, Harry would have them give the rings to each person on the list.

After he had finished mapping out his ideas in his notebook, he glanced at the clock.

"Damn it," Harry swore, jumping to his feet and packing away his things.

It was 6 in the morning. He had spent nearly five hours sitting in this room, making plans. He was used to running on little sleep, but this was taking things to a whole new level.

It was only Monday, and Harry just knew that this was going to be a rough week. He was determined to get these rings done by Friday, even if it killed him. He knew that he wouldn't be getting much sleep until the club was up and running. Somehow, he didn't care that much. This cause was worth losing sleep over. Besides, this is exactly why coffee and Wideye Potions were invented.

Harry spent the entire day trying to keep his nervous energy in check. Several times, he had found himself literally bouncing up and down, to the great amusement of his friends. Harry didn't know why Spell-Crafting made him feel like this, but the prospect of spending all week tinkering with magic made him giddy.

Harry's plan for that night was to find the metal he would use for the rings. He hoped that the Room of Requirement would be able to provide some for him. He didn't fancy the idea of trying to conjure that much metal. It was possible, but it would take a lot of the power that he so desperately needed to complete the rest of the spell-work.

When Harry had explained the Room of Requirement and his plan for the rings to his friends, they were just as excited as he had been. Fred and George had been over the moon at the prospect of an inventing space free from the eyes of teachers (and Hermione).

After Harry explained his plans for the evening, George had insisted that he would join him.

"Fred and I have basically the same friends, so he can handle recruitment. Besides, you need an assistant. This is too much work for you to do alone."

Harry agreed. George would be helpful, even if he just helped with shaping the metal or making Wideye Potions.

"Deal," Harry said, secretly very happy that George would be joining him.

As soon as dinner was finished, Harry and George headed up to the Room of Requirement. Harry stopped before the door, wondering what he should ask for. In the end, he decided to just ask for a place where they could find the things they needed.

To his shock, and dismay, they ended up in a giant room that was absolutely filled with piles upon piles of junk.

"Merlin, it's gonna take forever to find stuff in here," George whispered, staring in awe at the mountains of stuff.

"What exactly am I looking for?" he asked, turning to look at Harry.

"Anything made of metal. Silver or brass would probably be best, but anything is fine."

"Right. Well, I'll go right, you go left. Let's meet back here in an hour or so to see what we've got."

They set off, Harry gazing in awe at the stuff. He was suddenly struck with a thought. There was no such thing as a spell for detecting metal, but this was a great opportunity to try out his Parselmagic.

He pulled out his wand.

"Serpensortia."

A tiny green snake materialized on the floor, gazing up at him with intelligent eyes.

" _Hello, little one,_ " Harry spoke, letting the silky feeling of Parseltongue wash over him.

" _Hello, big one._ " The snake replied before slithering up his arm and wrapping itself around his wrist like a bracelet.

" _You are warm. I think I will keep you_ "

Harry laughed, he hadn't realized snakes were this funny.

Focusing on the snake, Harry pondered what he wanted.

" _Show me metal,_ " He tried, channeling his magic through his wand. Nothing happened.

He probably needed to be more specific.

" _Show me the silver,_ " He hissed. This time, spots of light appeared all around the room, indicating where objects containing silver were.

"What the hell?" George's voice echoed from across the room.

"What just happened?"

"It's just a spell, George," Harry called back.

"It should show you where silver is."

"WICKED!"

Harry grinned and turned toward one of the glowing piles. After a bit of rifling around, he located the glowing object. It was a simple necklace inset with a blue crystal. It looked like it might be a birthstone. Harry put it into his rucksack, once again appreciating the usefulness of undetectable extension charms.

He continued his journey through the room, happily picking up silver items as he went. His best find was a pair of shoes that were completely covered in diamonds of different colors. He wondered for a moment if they were the shoes from the Wizard of Oz. He was only just able to resist the temptation to put them on and click his heels together. He reasoned that he didn't really have a home for them to take him to anyway.

He was just about to turn back when something made him stop dead in his tracks. The tugging sensation, the same sensation he had felt when he'd first found the locket, had just returned to his scar.

With growing dread, he moved toward the source of the tugging. Just like with the locket, Harry found that his magic was pushing him to keep getting closer to the object. His rational mind knew that this was a bad idea. The locket was evil, and this object likely was as well. It seemed that no amount of rationality could stop the pull, and he found himself moving toward the source of the tugging, almost against his will.

After about 5 minutes of walking, he found it. Sitting atop a red, velvet cushion was the most beautiful tiara Harry had ever seen: intricate arches of delicate silver inlaid with gleaming sapphires. Harry reached out a hand, lightly brushing the central sapphire. Robotically, he pulled the tiara down and put it into his school bag, relieved that the tugging had finally stopped.

Noticing that his hour was nearly up, he hurried back to find George, doing his best to put all thoughts of the tiara from his mind. He would deal with it later.

Once they were reunited, Harry and George carefully went through their haul, picking out only the best items. They wouldn't need much metal as Harry intended the rings to be fairly small.

After Harry had secured their chosen objects in his rucksack, he asked the room to give him a space where he could create the rings. The room around them transformed into a tiny forge. Harry had no idea what any of the stuff did, but that was what magic was for.

George went to one corner of the room which transformed into a small Potions lab.

"I'm making us some Wideye Potion," he said, practically reading Harry's mind.

"I think we're going to need it."

Harry moved to the center of the room where there was a large stone slab with a deep indentation. It looked like someone had carved a bowl out of the stone. It seemed like it would be able to hold molten metal.

He reached into his rucksack, pulling out a large silver chalice and the diamond-encrusted shoes.

After he had found the shoes, he had the idea of putting diamonds in for the snake's eyes. The fact that the shoes had diamonds in blue, yellow, red, and green only made the idea more perfect. Every person's ring would bear the color of their house.

He wasn't exactly sure how to get the diamonds off the shoes, so he went back to basics. He pointed his wand at the shoes, channeling as much magic as he could into the spell.

"Accio diamonds."

To his surprised delight, the diamonds flew right off the shoes. He directed them onto the table where they lay in a gleaming pile of refracting colors. He asked the room for a bowl and scooped the diamonds into it. For a moment he imagined how the Dursleys would react if they could see him now. He was literally holding a bowl full of diamonds.

Brushing away that thought, he pulled out a single red diamond, admiring how perfectly polished it was. He had known that red diamonds existed, but he had certainly never expected to see one in person. Placing the diamond back into the bowl, he frowned down at the glittering objects. As they were, the diamonds were too large for his purposes. He thought maybe a Cutting Curse would work, as long as it had enough power behind it.

He channeled his magic through his arm, imagining the exact size he wanted.

"Diffindo."

The large diamonds split into about 10 tiny diamonds each. They were just the size he wanted. Unfortunately, as soon as the spell ended, Harry began to feel extremely lightheaded. Without him consciously asking, the room provided a cushy armchair just in time for him to collapse into it.

"Harry?" George hurried over.

"What happened?"

"Just...too much magic. I need a minute."

George looked at the table behind him.

"Did you just cut DIAMONDs?" He asked, his voice sounding choked.

"Why would you try that? You know that they're the hardest material EVER, right? What were you thinking?"

"It's fine. It worked, didn't it?"

"I don't care that it worked. Next time, don't just assume that you have enough power to do something. That could have ended very badly, Harry."

Harry felt his guilt rising as he looked at George's pale, worried face. He hadn't realized the spell was dangerous.

"Sorry." he whispered.

He meant it.

"Fine. Just, please don't try anymore stupid stunts today."

"I won't."

It took nearly 45 minutes before Harry felt strong enough to get back to work. When he was finally ready, he pulled out the silver chalice, trying to figure out how to return it to molten silver. He thought Parseltongue might be his best bet. He placed the chalice into the indentation in the stone, debating the proper wording.

" _Become liquid_ " he tried.

Nothing.

" _Return to liquid_."

Nothing.

" _Return to liquid fire._ "

Nothing.

" _Through fire, return to liquid_."

To his delight, the cup began to morph and melt, twisting itself together until the indentation contained a pool molten metal. Unfortunately, he could still see some impurities.

" _Separate what is not silver,_ " he hissed, somehow getting the language right on the first try this time. The other metals rose above the silver, and he vanished them with a quick "Evanesco."

Now came the part that he had no idea how to do. In theory, he should be able to use intent to form the metal into the shape he wanted. If he could keep his concentration, a mental picture should be enough.

" _Mold yourself into my mind's image,_ " he hissed, keeping the image of the tiny snake he wanted firmly in his mind. A small drop of the metal rose above the surface, transforming before his eyes. George stopped his work and came over to watch as the metal formed itself into a perfect image of a tiny snake complete with miniature scales. Two of the tiny red diamonds flew up from the table, affixing themselves to the snake's empty eye sockets.

"Wow." George said.

"That's some seriously cool magic."

Harry nodded, admiring the beautiful metal snake floating in the air before them. He cast a quick Freezing Charm on the metal, forcing it to solidify, then lowered it onto the table.

Over the next hour and a half, Harry made close to 100 of the tiny snakes. Once he got the hang of it, he could do two or three of the snakes at once. He had made roughly equal numbers of each color, hoping that the club would have a similar number of members from each house. He knew that he had probably made far too many of the snakes, but he would rather have too many than have to make more later.

He scooped all but one of the snakes into a small bag he had brought with him. It was time to figure out all the charms he wanted to put on them. Just as he was about to get started, a buzzing noise started coming from his bag. Pulling out the two-way mirror, he accepted the incoming call from his godfather.

Sirius' face appeared in the mirror, smiling wildly.

"Harry! I'm so happy you picked up! I wanted you to see my latest prank. Come in here, Moony!"

Remus appeared next to Sirius in the mirror, sporting green hair and a very exasperated expression. Harry burst out laughing.

"It suits you, Remus!" George called from behind Harry.

"Who's that?" Remus said, craning his neck to see past Harry. George came over to Harry, perching on the arm of his chair.

"Oh, hi George. What are you two doing?"

"Harry's starting an underground student defence club, and I'm helping."

"Oh, excellent!" Sirius exclaimed, clearly delighted at the idea of Harry breaking rules.

"How can we help?"

Harry explained everything: The Room of Requirement, the rings, and his desire to help students learn to defend themselves.

"All the enchanting you're doing with the Parseltongue sounds fascinating! You'll have to show me the rings over Christmas. Since you're going to be teaching, would you like to borrow the books I used when I taught?"

Harry felt a wave of gratitude pass over him.

"That would be great, Remus. Thank you so much!"

"Of course, I'll send them tonight. They might even make it to you by tomorrow."

They chatted for a bit longer before Harry ended the call.

As he got back to work, Harry decided to start with a spell that would make the ring only work for a single individual. Pulling out one of the red-eyed snakes, he debated how to best go about this. If he gave each snake a command in Parseltongue, they should be able to follow it.

He turned to the tiny, metal snake in his hand,

" _Wake, Friend_ "

As he had hoped, the snake began moving as if it was alive. It wasn't, of course, but he had theorized that Parselmouths could get inanimate snakes to move. It was the only thing that could explain the moving metal and stone snakes he had observed in the Chamber of Secrets.

His ring would be easiest because he could just order the snake directly in Parseltongue. For the others he would have to give each snake a code word in English so that the others could activate it.

Focusing his attention back on the snake he ordered,

" _Form an Ouroboros shape around my finger. Once you have done so, sleep again. Never allow yourself to be removed by any but your wearer._ "

The tiny snake did as it was commanded, slithering up his hand and settling itself around his index finger. It circled twice around his finger before turning its head down and biting its own tail. Once it had formed the ring, it stopped moving, leaving a beautiful silver ring on his finger.

He asked George to try to take the ring off his finger. No matter how hard he tried, George couldn't get the ring to budge. Even the Summoning Charm didn't work.

When Harry tried to take the ring off, it slid off easily, the snake uncurling itself and returning to its original position. They had turned out exactly as he wanted. Now all he had to do was add the secrecy spells, the communications spells, and the Fidelius link.

He was just about to get started when George took his notebook from him.

"It's time to go."

"I just want to work for a bit longer. There's so much to…"

"It's nearly midnight. You still have homework to do, and we have Quidditch practice in the morning. Plus, I'm pretty sure you must be nearing Magical Exhaustion with the amount of spells you've done tonight."

Knowing that George was probably right, Harry agreed to stop for the night. After he'd vanished the conjured snake, the two of them headed back to the Common Room under Harry's invisibility cloak. It was slow going because Harry's legs were like jelly. George had been right about the Magical Exhaustion.

Once they were back in the Common Room, George stayed with Harry until he had finished his homework, providing the extra motivation Harry needed to power through his fatigue.

When he made it back to his dormitory, Harry finally allowed his mind to return to the problem of the tiara he had found. He didn't know why these objects called to him so much, but he was powerless to resist. Not seeing any other option, Harry buried the tiara in his trunk just as he had done with the locket.

That night, Harry's dreams were more vivid than ever. He saw the dark hallway over and over again. It ran in an endless loop until the morning, leaving him with an omnipresent feeling of deep frustration. He was going to go mad if this kept up.

The next morning, Harry was sure that the only thing that prevented him from actually going mad was George giving him one of the Wideye Potions he had made the night before. His mood got another boost when the books Remus had promised arrived in the claws of a very proud Barn Owl. He wouldn't have time to read the books this week, but they would be very useful once he started planning lessons.

Over the next several days, Harry continued working on his spells, imbuing each and every metal snake with the necessary enchantments. By Friday morning he had successfully imbued them with a secrecy charm that would prevent any member from talking about their club with anyone who wasn't wearing a ring themselves. He had also made them into rudimentary communication devices. He could speak in Parseltongue to his ring, and the message would appear in English on the other rings. He could also send out a danger signal which would make the rings heat up.

After some deliberation, he had decided that each ring would need to be keyed to a specific person. He would do this by making the activation codeword for each ring the name of the person who would get it. He had also created connections between his ring and all the others so that he could activate just parts of the network at a time. He would be able to send messages and warnings to specific individuals or specific groups. It had been a terribly long process. He didn't even know how many Wideye Potions he had drunk, but he guessed it was too many.

The others had given him their lists of people who were interested in joining that morning. It ended up being roughly 25 people from Gryffindor, 23 people from Ravenclaw, 21 from Hufflepuff, and 18 from Slytherin. Harry was very pleased with those numbers. There were 21 that were in years 1-3, 40 that were in years 4-5, and the other 26 were in years 6-7. Now that he had the lists, Harry could key each ring to a specific person.

That evening, Harry keyed each ring to their future owner. He kept them in order by inscribing each name into the underside of the snake. Once the ring was on, the name would be invisible.

Harry would distribute the snakes to his friends who would ensure they made it to the designated owner. Once that person had the snake in their hand, all they had to do was say their own name for the snake to awake and form the Ouroborus shape around their finger.

All that was left was to cast the Fidelius Charm and link it to the rings. This part of the process turned out to be fairly easy. The Fidelus, although it took a huge amount of power, was an easy spell to cast. He had worked so extensively with the rings by this point that it was simple for him to give the secret to each ring as if it was a person. As soon as a person put on the ring, they would know the location of the Room of Requirement.

The only hard part about Harry's work that night was that he was alone. Fred had pulled George away for some experimenting, and Harry had felt too awkward to ask him to stay. He was surprised by how much he missed having George with him.

That night he had actually finished before curfew, so he started back to the Common Room without his invisibility cloak. Later, he would wish that he'd worn it.

He had to walk pretty slowly because the Fidelius Charm had left him feeling profoundly exhausted. He had only made it about halfway back to the tower when he came face to face with Michael McManus, the Hufflepuff Prefect who had slammed into a wall a week ago.

When he caught sight of Harry, McManus' handsome face twisted into ugly rage. Harry was too tired to react as McManus slammed him against the wall, holding him there with an arm at his throat, cutting off his air supply.

"Listen, Potter. I'm not fooled by your little act. I know you killed Cedric. You better watch your back because I'm coming for you. When you least expect it, I'm going to…"

"Hem. Hem."

To Harry's dismay, Umbridge had just turned the corner and was now watching the scene unfold with apparent interest.

"What is going on here, Mr. McManus?"

McManus released Harry and stepped back. Harry could only stand there gasping for breath, waiting for the black dots to fade from his vision.

"Potter was acting erratic, Professor. He tried to attack me. I had to restrain him."

Lies. They weren't even good lies, but Umbridge bought it anyway.

"Attacking students, Mr. Potter? I think that warrants another week of detention. I'll see you in my office at 5 on Monday evening."

McManus smirked at Harry before leaving the hallway, Umbridge following close behind. Harry stood alone in the hallway, wondering how on earth he was going to get through another week of detentions.

As the unfairness of the situation sank in, he was more determined than ever to get the defence club up and running. He would protect the other students from Umbridge. He would protect them even though he couldn't protect himself. Umbridge might win this battle against him, but he would win the war. He would win the war, and she would pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed reading it! I love coming up with my own versions of Magical Theory. All the stuff about Parselmagic is for my own amusement. I always thought it was sad that Harry didn't get to use Parseltongue very often in the books.
> 
> As for the whole concept of the rings, I thought it would be awesome if Harry and the others showed Umbridge that they were united while also making sure that she had no idea what they were up to. I can totally see that driving her up the wall. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and thank you to everyone who has commented or left Kudos :) Next chapter coming Tuesday!


	17. The Founders' League

It was pure determination that carried Harry through his week of detentions. Carving words into his arm, although still terribly painful, no longer left him with a feeling of despair. Instead, every stroke of the quill strengthened his resolve to take Umbridge down.

He would allow her this victory because he didn't have any other feasible option. She was a Slytherin at her core, and she had used her cunning to make escape impossible. Anyone Harry told was in danger of expulsion or retaliation by the Ministry. To make matters worse, Harry didn't have any definitive proof that Umbridge had been the one to do this. Technically, he had done it to himself. Even under Veritaserum, he would be forced to admit that fact.

With Fudge in power and the public against him, Harry had no chance. If the story ever actually broke, it would likely paint him as a delusional liar who had carved the words into his own arm and tried to blame it on Umbridge. She had him backed into a corner, and she knew it.

Umbridge had made one fatal mistake though: she had assumed that he would act like a stereotypical Gryffindor. If there was one thing Harry had learned in his years at Hogwarts it was that everyone was a mixture of the houses. No one was purely Gryffindor or Slytherin or Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. Umbridge expected him to engage in a battle of wills, keeping his silence to protect his friends. She expected him to be the self-sacrificing kind of brave that he so often was.

She didn't account for the fact that Harry had a fair amount of Slytherin in him as well. He would play the sacrificial hero in this office. He would pretend that he was taking this lying down in order to protect those around him. He would let her think she'd beaten him.

He was luring her into a false sense of security through his submission. This would keep her eyes off his long-term plans. He knew that eventually public opinion would turn to his side. Eventually, Voldemort would reveal himself. When that happened, Fudge would fall. Harry would make sure of it.

Once that happened, Harry would finally be able to take these detentions public. Without Fudge to protect her, Harry was sure that Umbridge would face time in Azkaban.

Harry also knew that when he was in detention, no one else could be. He was willing to take this punishment so that no one else had to. It was the knowledge that he was protecting others, and the lovely image of Umbridge behind bars, that allowed Harry to keep his head high even as he carved those hateful words deeper and deeper into his flesh.

When the pain became too much, Harry took to distracting himself with planning for the first meeting of the defense club. Working on lesson plans helped him remember why he was putting up with the torture Umbridge was inflicting.

The first meeting would be that Sunday, and Harry had a lot of lesson-planning to do. Thankfully, most of the logistical stuff was taken care of. The rings had been handed out, they had a finalized list of members, and the Room of Requirement was under a Fidelius Charm. They even had a name.

At breakfast on Monday morning, Luna Lovegood had come up to Harry, her normally dreamy expression replaced by a kind of dignified solemnity.

"Hogwarts is very pleased with you, Harry. I think she feels like this is a second founding of the school."

Before Harry could begin to ponder the strangeness of Luna's statement, a lightbulb seemed to go off above Neville's head.

"It is like a second founding! We're founding a united Hogwarts! We should call it something to do with the founders!"

"That's an excellent idea, Neville!" Hermione said, seeming to catch Neville's enthusiasm.

"How about the Founders' club?" Ginny asked.

"The Founders' Association?" Fred suggested.

"No, The Founders' League,"

Neville said it with such conviction that no further discussion was necessary.

Just like that, the Founders' League was born.

Hermione was extremely excited by the name because it gave her an opportunity to lecture them on what she felt was proper apostrophe placement in a plural possessive.

"I never add an extra "s", it just looks bad."

Even Neville, who was normally very tolerant of Hermione's lectures, couldn't resist rolling his eyes. They did agree, however, that although the apostrophe was a little cumbersome, it would make a cool logo if they ever stopped being a secret organization.

"The apostrophe can be drawn in the shape of a snake. It'll be just like the ones on our rings," Ginny pointed out happily.

Now that they had a name, a location, and members, the only thing left was to devise how the club would run. After much deliberation, Harry had decided that the League would be divided into 3 groups. The first group would be years 1-3 and would focus primarily on basic defensive techniques such as the Disarming Charm and minor hexes. The second group would include years 4-5 and would concentrate on hex-deflection and recognizing dark magic. The final group would be years 6-7 and would focus on advanced defensive magic. Harry hoped to teach that group advanced shielding charms and maybe even the Patronus.

Once they had covered enough spells, Harry would move on to dueling with the two older groups while he would teach the younger years how to deal with Dark Creatures. Although Harry would be the primary instructor, he would have assistance from his friends in running the meetings. Ron and Hermione would help him with the youngest group; Fred and Angelina with the middle group; and George and Blaise with the oldest group.

Harry was slightly concerned that the NEWT students would object to him teaching them because he was younger. He planned to explain to them why he felt he was qualified. During the Triwizard Tournament, he had worked through the entirety of the Hogwarts curriculum in DADA, convinced that he was going to die in the tournament unless he prepared. He knew all the defensive spells that might be on the NEWTs, and he had used many of them in real-world situations. Many of the older students also hadn't gotten a very good DADA education. Having a different, usually sub-par, professor every year didn't produce well-rounded students.

Harry had also had mostly terrible Defense Against the Dark Arts professors. He was only so knowledgeable because being in constant danger had a way of forcing you to learn how to defend yourself. Harry wanted the members of the League to gain that same knowledge without having to go through the painful experiences he had gone through.

With his lesson plans complete, Harry could barely wait until Sunday— the day of the first meeting. Sunday was the perfect day because there were no structured activities on those days: no classes, no Hogsmeade weekends, no Quidditch matches. Students spent Sundays scattered around the castle. It was the perfect time for a secret club to meet because no one would notice that they were gone.

Even Quidditch didn't help Harry rid himself of his nervous energy. During their practice on Saturday, he couldn't keep his mind from wandering. He was equal parts determined and terrified, excited and cautious. He wanted this to work so badly, but he was also petrified that he would fail. If anyone died because he didn't teach them well enough…

Well, Harry wasn't sure he could survive that.

As it turned out, distraction and Quidditch were not a good combination. Harry found this out the hard way when he failed to catch the Snitch a single time during the entire practice.

Angelina had not been pleased.

"HAVE YOU GONE BLIND? THAT'S THE ONLY EXPLANATION I CAN THINK OF FOR WHY YOU MISSED THE SNITCH EVERY SINGLE TIME!"

Harry tried to look remorseful. It was made very difficult by the Weasley twins, who were standing behind Angelina imitating her outraged expression and erratic hand waving.

"YOU'RE THE BEST SEEKER IN HOGWARTS, BUT YOUR BRAIN SEEMS TO HAVE LEFT THE BUILDING! GET IT TOGETHER, POTTER!"

"Sorry, Angelina."

Harry said, still finding it difficult not to laugh.

"I promise I'll be better next week."

"See that you are." Angelina huffed.

As he walked back up to the castle, Harry pondered the similarities between Oliver Wood and Angelina. They had both gone absolutely insane when made Quidditch Captain. Oliver was a soft-spoken bloke, but whenever Quidditch was involved, he became a madman. Harry wondered if all Quidditch Captains were afflicted by this Quidditch insanity. He hoped not.

Harry had a hard time thinking about his life after Hogwarts. He sometimes doubted he would survive that long. The only thing he could imagine himself doing was playing Quidditch professionally. He hoped that he would be good enough by the time he graduated. If he graduated.

It was a dream. A dream of a life without Voldemort. If he could somehow defeat Voldemort before he graduated, then he would try to play professionally. It was a vision of the future that stopped him from giving up completely.

He was already tired of fighting. He didn't want his life to be a constant battle to stay alive like it would be if he chose to become an Auror as he knew many people expected him to.

His dream was to play on a Quidditch team and do research on the side. He wanted to keep Spell-Crafting and experimenting. He wanted to help improve the magical world in a way that didn't involve fighting people. He had already done enough of that. He wanted Sirius free. He wanted a family of his own and a life free from fear. He wanted it so badly it hurt.

He didn't know if his dream would ever come to pass. He might die before his next birthday. He might spend his entire life running from Voldemort. Harry kept the spark of hope alive because it stopped the despair from overtaking him. He needed something to look forward to.

He would fight this fight. He would fight for the life he wanted.

If he died, then at least he would try his best to secure that peaceful life for those he left behind.

"Hey, are you excited for the meeting tomorrow?" a voice cut through his thoughts.

It was George.

"Um, yeah. I'm nervous, but I think it should be good."

"I'm sure it'll be amazing! You've been working on those plans all week."

"I hope you're right."

"I'm always right, Harrikins! You should know that by now."

They walked in comfortable silence for a minute, just enjoying the evening.

"You know, the rings have caused quite a stir," George commented, looking particularly mischievous.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, Umbridge noticed them in our DADA class. She asked us where we got them. I told her that they came from a mysterious and handsome stranger. Which is not technically false. Except for the stranger part."

Harry had to fight hard to hide his blush. George thought he was handsome?

"That's not...I mean….what?"

George laughed.

"Learn to take a compliment, Harry. It's a good skill to have. Especially for an individual as talented as yourself. As for the mysterious part, well, it's not really a compliment. You keep too many secrets."

Harry wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that.

"Was she satisfied with your explanation?" he said, trying to change the subject.

"Nope! She just got really angry when everyone in the class said the same thing. It's already starting to annoy her, but it's not like she can do anything. There's no rule against wearing jewelry!"

Harry was happy that the rings were working. Annoying Umbridge made all the work he had done on the rings so very worth it.

Once they got back to the castle, Harry spent the rest of the evening running through his lesson plans in the Room of Requirement, trying to get a feel for the flow of each session.

His extensive preparations did nothing to calm Harry's nerves as he sat at breakfast the next morning. He had never felt this jittery in his life. It wasn't the idea of teaching that scared him, it was the idea that he might not do it well enough. It had never been more essential for the students of Hogwarts to have a good defense education. If he couldn't provide one the consequences could end up being catastrophic.

Hermione, sensing Harry's nervousness, tried to calm him down by launching into an incredibly tedious description of an article she had read on the properties of Moonstone. Harry appreciated the effort. He knew that Hermione was remembering the nights in first-year when they had stayed up late in the Common Room and he had fallen asleep to the sound of her voice as she explained some obscure concept.

Ron responded to Harry's nervousness in the only way he knew how: food. He piled eggs, bacon, and toast on Harry's plate as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Eat up, mate! You need your energy."

It was during moments like these that Harry understood why they had been nicknamed the "Golden Trio." He didn't know who had coined the term, but it sometimes fit them just right. They really were the best of friends. Harry often doubted he would be here without the two of them. It wasn't just the fact that Hermione and Ron had helped him survive many of his end-of-year exploits, it was that they had shown him what it was like to have people care.

By the time he was eleven, Harry had begun to doubt that anyone would ever actually want him around. Ron had been the first person to make him feel like someone might cry if he died. Hermione had been the first person who hugged him like touching him was a gift not an inconvenience. He really didn't want to think about what his mental state would be like if he hadn't had them.

After breakfast, Harry headed up to the Room of Requirement with Ron and Hermione to get everything ready for the youngest group. Ten minutes before the meeting was set to begin, Harry activated the Marauder's Map so he could keep track of Umbridge. If he saw her get too close to their location, he would send a warning out through the rings to stop any students from getting caught.

Thankfully, there were no issues and every student made it safely into the Room of Requirement. Harry was struck by how tiny they all seemed. Tiny and young.

"Hi everyone!" He said, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

"Welcome to the first meeting of the Founders' League! Um, I'm Harry Potter,"

He hated introducing himself. Everyone already knew who he was. How could they not when he was literally all over the news.

"this is Ron Weasley," he said, gesturing to Ron, who gave an awkward wave.

"and this is Hermione Granger."

Hermione beamed at the younger students, clearly delighted to be in a teaching role.

"We'll be helping you all learn how to defend yourselves. You'll see pretty quickly that with just a few key spells, you can protect yourself very effectively. Today, we'll start with one of my favorite spells—the Disarming Charm. It's a really useful spell because most Wizards and Witches are totally useless without their wands."

That earned some giggles from the kids.

Harry spent the next half hour explaining the background of the charm, giving examples of situations where it was useful, and going over the pronunciation and wand movement. He let Ron and Hermione demonstrate the charm before splitting the kids into pairs and setting them loose to practice.

At first, it was chaos. Wands were flying everywhere. People were accidentally disarming other people's partners or themselves.

Harry moved around the room adjusting stances and giving tips on aim. The kids took his advice without question, seemingly delighted to have his attention. Slowly but surely, they improved. Harry loved seeing the excitement on their faces when they managed the spell correctly. It made him feel like he was really accomplishing something.

By the end of the hour, every student had successfully disarmed their partner at least once. They were far from perfect, but it was a good start. With around ten minutes left before the middle group would be arriving, Harry started dismissing the students in small groups. As they left, they thanked him, their tiny voices squeaky with happiness. One first year Hufflepuff, Claire, gave him a big hug before she left.

Harry was so shocked, he didn't know how to react. Claire didn't seem to care. She just gave him a big grin, waved, and left.

"That went really well!" Hermione exclaimed, tidying up some of the cushions that had been hit with rogue spells.

"They really seem to like you, Harry."

"They're too small," Ron said, grimacing.

"I was never that small."

Hermione glared at him.

"Honestly, Ronald. You WERE that small and twice as annoying."

"Oi!"

"She's right, mate," Harry said, grinning

"You were pretty annoying."

"Don't you start, Harry," Ron moaned.

"Besides, you're one to talk! You were the smallest first year I've ever seen. Scrawny little thing. That certainly hasn't changed."

"Hey!"

"Boys, no fighting!" Hermione said,

"You were both tiny and annoying firsties. Harry's stayed small, and Ron's stayed annoying. End of story."

Before Ron and Harry could defend themselves from Hermione's baseless accusations, the next group started to arrive.

The fourth and fifth year group was the largest, likely because these were the students who knew him best. He started this meeting with a more somber speech than he had given to the youngest group. He told them how essential it was that they learned to defend themselves now. He warned that war was on the horizon, and they all needed to be prepared. The group seemed to sense his sincerity, nodding solemnly as he spoke.

They worked on the Impediment Jinx that day. It was one that Harry had perfected in preparation for the Triwizard Tournament. It allowed you to slow down an object or creature as it approached you, leaving you more time to get away or devise a defensive strategy. The students took to the spell fairly well. Everyone was putting in their best effort, clearly inspired by the speech Harry had given. They understood how important this was.

Neville was more serious than Harry had ever seen him. He was putting all his energy into every spell, pushing himself to his limits and beyond. Harry understood perfectly. Just like Harry, Neville knew what it was like to lose people to war. He knew what it felt like to have a happy life ripped from you by violence. Just like Harry, Neville was compelled to fight back.

The group had varying degrees of success with the spell. By the end of the session, most people could perform the jinx, but not everyone could slow down the object by any meaningful amount. That was something that would come with time. Harry jotted down the people who were struggling the most, planning to have them practice more at the next session.

At last, it was time for the final session of the day. Harry was dreading this session because the subject matter was going to be much more serious. Once all the 6th and 7th years had arrived, Harry gave them a similar speech about the need for defensive knowledge before teaching them the Shield Charm.

With this group, instead of having them practice against each other, he assigned two people to each of the practice dummies. They would work as a team to block the dummy's spells. The dummies were a useful tool because they could replicate the appearance of spells without the effects. Harry was using them to demonstrate the importance of knowing what spell you were defending against.

Because the Unforgiveable Curses could not be blocked, it was essential to practice dodging them. For this reason, Harry had set the dummies to fire yellow light to represent normal curses. The students would use the Shield Charm to block those. Intermittently the light would be red (for the Cruciatus), blue (for the Imperius), and green (for the Killing Curse). You could have the best Shield Charm in the world and it wouldn't matter if you got hit with one of those Curses.

The results of the exercise were far from encouraging. People either forgot to dodge or they were so bad at it that they got hit anyway. Every time he saw someone get hit by the green light of the fake Killing Curse, Harry's heart stopped.

By the end of the session, his hands were shaking so badly, he could barely keep ahold of his wand. As everyone trickled out of the room, Harry collapsed into a chair, trying to hold himself together. He hadn't realized that it would be so difficult to watch people get hit. Every flash of green light reminded him of Cedric's corpse and his mother's final screams.

"They'll get better, you know,"

Harry looked up, startled. George hadn't left.

"What if they don't? Or, what if they do, and it still doesn't matter? Cedric knew this stuff! He knew what a Killing Curse looked like, but he still got hit with one!"

"You're giving them information and experience that could save their lives. That's enough!" George said, almost angrily.

"You can't save everyone, but you're doing enough Harry. More than enough."

Harry hoped that George was right. It had to be enough.

It just had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Founders' League is born! I hope no one hates that the name has an apostrophe (I know it looks kinda weird, but grammar is grammar). Anyway, I won't always go into detail about each meeting, but I hope this gave you a sense of what Harry's doing.
> 
> I hope people understand Harry's motivations for not telling on Umbridge. I know it's frustrating to see him suffer like this and not get help, but I really feel like it's a realistic response from someone like him. He's very good at protecting others...but not so good at protecting himself. Umbridge DEFINITELY won't get away with it, but it'll take a bit of time before anyone finds out.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Special thanks to anyone who has commented or left Kudos. You guys make my day! Next chapter coming Friday!


	18. A Hand to Hold

Now that the Founders’ League was up and running, Harry had nothing to take his mind off the interview he would be giving to Magical Monthly that coming weekend. He knew it was the right thing to do, but the thought still terrified him. 

The last time he’d told someone what had happened in the graveyard was in Dumbledore’s office. He’d been in shock, not understanding what had really occurred. Since then, he hadn’t been able to get the words out. Just the thought of trying to explain the terror of that night…

It was very nearly too much. 

In the days leading up to the interview, Harry found himself avoiding sleep as much as possible, dreading nights filled with horrible dreams. He was back to jumping at shadows, looking over his shoulder, feeling irrationally afraid. 

It was frustrating. 

He was backsliding. He was once again in that dark place where it felt like the lights would never come back on. 

There was only one person who he knew would understand how he felt: Sirius. 

That was how he found himself sitting on his bed, the two-way mirror clutched in his hand, trying to pull himself together. He knew that Sirius would want him to share how he was feeling. Harry was just so bad at going to adults for help. Even with Sirius, who he trusted more than anyone, there was a nagging fear in the back of his mind. A fear that he would be ignored, or worse. 

Brushing aside his nerves, Harry whispered his godfather’s name into the night. 

“Sirius Black.”

It took Sirius only a few seconds to pick up, smiling widely. 

“Harry!! I’m so glad you called!”

“Hi Sirius,” Harry said, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. 

Sirius’ smile faltered, a look of concern passing over his face. 

“You okay?” 

Harry struggled to find the right reply. 

“I don’t know.” 

Sirius looked clearly worried now. 

“What’s going on?”

“I...well, I’m giving an interview to Magical Monthly on Saturday and…"

“Wait a second. Since when are you giving an interview? How did you even get an interview with them?”

“Viktor Krum and Hermione set it up. I’m sorry, I guess I forgot to tell you.”

He hadn’t meant to keep the interview from Sirius, it had just slipped his mind in all the excitement surrounding the Founders’ League. 

“It’s fine. I’m sorry I interrupted. I was just surprised. Please, go on. What’s bothering you about the interview?”

“It’s about the Third Task. And I know it's important to get the story out, but I...I don’t know if I can do it.”

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. 

“I’m not sure I can t-talk about it.” 

Harry kept his head down, not wanting to see his godfather’s reaction to his cowardice. 

“Harry, please look at me.”

He looked up, staring right into Sirius’ gray eyes. There was no judgment there. 

“You are not weak.”

Harry shook his head. Sirius was wrong. 

“No, listen to me. Harry, you are NOT weak. Being afraid doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. You’re allowed to be affected by this.” 

Harry wanted to believe him.

It was just so hard to feel this way when he was meant to be a fighter, a leader, a hero. He was supposed to be strong for other people. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that he was letting them all down. 

“I just, I-I don’t know what to do, Sirius.” 

Harry hated how childlike he sounded, needy and terrified. 

“And that’s okay. You don’t have to know.”

Sirius paused for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. 

“You know, I still have trouble talking about Azkaban.”

“Really?” Harry asked, startled. Sirius always seemed so strong. 

“Yes, really. I still dream about that place. Not as much as I used to, but enough.”

“How do you…?”

“Deal with it?”

Harry nodded, needing to understand how Sirius coped. 

“Remus helps me. A lot. I was in a really bad place after Peter got away. I wasn’t in my right mind. I kept forgetting where I was. Remus found me and stayed with me. He reminded me what it felt like to be normal.”

Harry listened, awed by the love in Sirius’ voice as he spoke of Remus. 

“He never pushed me to talk. He never got angry at me even when I yelled at him or tried to push him away. He was just there for me. That was enough.”

Sirius’ eyes looked suspiciously misty as he spoke, lost in memories. 

“So, it gets easier?”

Harry whispered, failing to keep the desperation out of his voice. 

“I think it does, Harry. That’s not to say that there won’t be bad days. There will be.”

Sirius stared right into Harry's eyes, determination etched in every line of his face. 

“When those bad days happen, tell someone what’s going on. Tell me what’s going on. Please, Harry, don’t let yourself suffer in silence. Ask for help.”

“I’m not too good at that,” Harry said sheepishly, knowing it was true. 

“I know, buddy, ” Sirius said with a small chuckle. 

“Just do your best.”

Sirius fell silent, clearly pondering something. 

“As for your interview, would it help if Remus came with you?”

Harry was taken aback. 

“I couldn’t ask him to do that for me.”

Sirius frowned. 

“That wasn’t the question. Would it help you if he was there?”

“Yeah. I-I think it would.” 

It was the truth. 

“Then, he’ll be there.”

Harry shook his head. 

“Sirius, he really doesn’t have to. I’m not worth the trouble.” 

Sirius’ frown deepened. 

“That’s not true at all, Harry. You are worth everything.”

Harry knew it wasn’t true, but he appreciated the words all the same. 

“What time’s the interview?” Sirius asked, scrambling to find a quill. 

“Um, it’s at noon. At the Three Broomsticks.” 

Sirius nodded, jotting something down on a spare bit of parchment. 

“I’ll tell him. He’ll be glad to help you, Harry. He cares about you.”

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“I’d be there for you if I could, Harry. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

He did know. He knew Sirius would do anything for him even if he didn’t really understand why. 

“Now, go get some sleep. You look terrible.”

“Gee thanks, Sirius,” Harry mumbled, slightly annoyed. 

“Just calling it like I see it,” Sirius retorted, grinning. 

“I love you, kid” 

Sirius had said it before, but Harry never got tired of hearing it. 

“I love you too,” Harry whispered back before ending the call. 

Maybe everything would be okay. 

Unfortunately, any comfort Harry had gained from his talk with Sirius had evaporated completely by the morning of the interview. 

Despite his friends’ pestering, he didn’t manage to eat a single bite at breakfast. He ended up leaving the Great Hall after only 10 minutes just to get away from their concerned glances. He loved his friends, but he just couldn’t deal with them right now. 

He still had around two hours before he needed to be at the Three Broomsticks, so he headed up to the Owlery. It had been too long since he’d visited Hedwig. 

He settled himself against one of the stone walls, stroking Hedwig, whispering words of endearment into her feathers. He was so engrossed in his owl, that he didn’t notice George’s arrival until he spoke.

“I brought you toast.” 

Harry jumped, startling Hedwig who screeched and took off out the window. His heart was hammering in his chest as he jumped to his feet and pulled his wand on the intruder, completely unaware of his surroundings. 

“Whoa, Harry. Stop. It’s just me.”

A hand grabbed his wand arm, pushing it down against his side. He struggled for a moment, convinced he was back in the graveyard being tied to a headstone by Wormtail. 

“Harry, it’s George. I’m not going to hurt you. Please calm down.”

It took a moment, but Harry slowly started to regain awareness.

He was in the Owlery.

He was at Hogwarts.

He was fine. 

“George?” he asked, letting his wand drop to the ground with a clatter. 

“Yeah. It’s just me.” 

Harry sank to the ground, head in his hands. 

“Sorry. I’m so sorry, George. I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t worry,” George said, sliding down to sit beside him. 

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.” 

Harry shook his head, keeping it buried in his hands.

“I could have hurt you.”

“Well, you didn’t. I’m fine, see?” 

George reached out and gently removed Harry’s hands from his face.

“I’m just as handsome as ever,” George joked, still holding Harry’s hands in his. 

“Sorry,” Harry said again, still struggling to catch his breath. 

“I’m so…”

“Stop apologizing,” George whispered, still not letting go. 

They sat like that for several minutes. George’s hands were warm and real. They helped Harry remember where he was. 

After a while, George stood up, pulling Harry with him.

“We’re going to Hogsmeade early.” George declared. 

“You, my friend, need to get out of this castle.”

Harry didn’t even try to argue. 

They made their way into Hogsmeade together, just the two of them. George had let go of his hand, but he stayed close, their arms brushing as they walked. George kept up an endless stream of banter, sensing that Harry wasn’t in any mood to talk.

They spent the time before Harry’s interview wandering around Hogsmeade, taking in the sights. It was nice. He was still shaky, but just being around George helped him feel more grounded. 

They arrived at the Three Broomsticks at a quarter to noon, stopping just outside the door. Harry could see Hermione and Remus already sitting at a table, clearly waiting for him. 

“Do you want me to come in with you?” George asked, noticing as Harry’s panic started to return. 

“No.”

He didn’t want George to hear this. He didn’t want him to know how useless Harry had been in the graveyard. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Harry looked up at George, offering him a weak smile. 

“Thanks for, um, you know, staying with me.”

“Anytime, Harrikins.” 

Harry watched him go, trying to ignore the ache in his chest, wishing he’d asked him to stay. 

Taking in a deep breath, Harry entered the Three Broomsticks, steeling himself for what he was about to do. 

The interview was a struggle. 

The reporter, Belle Clerihew, was very competent and kind, but Harry still had to battle to get every word out. Remus kept a hand on his arm the whole time, offering much-needed comfort. Harry felt disconnected from reality, answering the reporter’s questions without being fully aware of what he was saying. 

Once the interview was over, Harry found that he couldn’t remember much of it. Hermione assured him that he had done amazingly before she headed off with Viktor, leaving Harry to spend some one-on-one time with Remus. 

They walked through the village in silence, Remus giving Harry a chance to come back to himself. They ended up in front of the Shrieking Shack, standing side by side.

“That was a very brave thing you just did, Harry.”

“I don’t feel very brave,” Harry admitted, hating how his voice still shook. 

“I know,” Remus said, putting an arm around Harry’s shoulders and drawing him closer. 

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re doing a lot of good. Starting your defense club and giving that interview were very brave choices. I’m proud of you, Harry. Sirius is too.”

Harry let Remus’ words wash over him, hoping against hope that they were true. He was glad that Sirius and Remus were proud of him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were mistaken. He wasn’t brave. Not really. He was a liar and a coward. He had so many secrets: the locket, the tiara, the detentions, the dreams, his bleeding scar.

He was a freak, and It was only a matter of time before everyone around him figured it out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but I really wanted to spend some time exploring Harry's mental state and his relationships. He's not doing very well right now, but he has great friends who aren't going to let him drown in self-hatred for too long. 
> 
> I hope no one's mad that I skipped the actual interview. The content of it will be explored in a few chapters when the article actually comes out.
> 
> Next Chapter is coming Sunday and will feature the return of McManus and McGonagall being awesome! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, or left Kudos! I really love hearing from all of you :)


	19. Friends Like These

Things didn’t get easier after the interview.

Harry had hoped that telling his story would give him some measure of freedom. He had hoped it would help him forget.

It didn’t.

Talking about the graveyard had only made his nightmares worse, horrifying and visceral. He saw visions of blood and death in a never-ending cycle of violence. His father, his mother, and Cedric died over and over again, their screams echoing for hours after he awoke.

By Tuesday he had stopped sleeping almost entirely. He spent his nights under his invisibility cloak in the Restricted Section of the library, looking for information on the locket and the tiara.

He had been completely unsuccessful. There was nothing in any of the books that matched the properties of either object. He wondered if the Black Library might have more information. Harry was positive that this was the darkest kind of magic. Probably far too dark for the Hogwarts library.

He was feeling increasingly terrified of the mysterious objects. He could feel their hold on him growing stronger. He found himself being drawn to them, needing to touch them, needing to be near them.

It was just one more burden that he couldn’t share.

Harry knew that his friends were worried about him.

They were right to be worried. He was a mess, jittery and anxious. He wasn’t eating or talking very much. He was withdrawn and constantly on edge.

No matter how hard he tried to pretend, it just wasn’t good enough. Harry had spent years putting on an act, but he just couldn’t do it anymore. Something was wrong with him.

Something was seriously wrong.

It wasn’t just the nightmares or the flashbacks. It was the way his scar kept bleeding, dropping red rivers down his pale face. It was the locket and the tiara, corrupting his mind slowly while he was powerless to stop it.

It was everything.

Harry had never felt closer to giving up. Some days he wanted to leave Hogwarts, go back to his cupboard, and forget. At least at the Dursleys no one expected anything from him. He wasn’t THE Harry Potter. He was just the freak under the stairs.

He still managed to go to class, do his homework, and go to Quidditch practice. He still got up each day like everything was fine, but he couldn’t hide his state of mind from those closest to him.

Hermione kept sneaking him worried glances in class and whispering to Ron when she thought he couldn’t hear. Ron kept trying to feed him, piling his plate full at every meal. Luna gave him some radishes for a reason Harry hadn’t quite understood, and Neville kept putting Chocolate Frogs on his bedside table.

Harry wished they would stop.

He knew they meant well, but their attention only succeeded in making him feel guilty. They shouldn’t be spending so much time on him. He simply wasn’t worth it.

He kept trying to pull back from them, isolating himself in the Room of Requirement and avoiding meals.

They simply wouldn’t let him go.

No matter how much he tried to avoid them, they just kept trying. He loved them for it, and it made him hate himself all the more. He hated that he was making them feel like this. He was hurting them with his distance, but he didn’t know how to stop. He couldn’t stop the feeling that if he didn’t keep his distance, they would pay for it with their lives.

They were such good people. They were so much better than him. He was a liar and a killer, a curse on everyone. He owed it to them to free them of the danger his friendship brought.

Deep down, Harry knew he was being an idiot. He knew that he needed his friends. He wouldn’t survive long without them. But knowing that he was acting like an idiot didn’t help him stop the feelings. Knowing his thoughts were irrational didn’t make them feel any less real. Every time he saw his friends, all he could see were their dead faces, the life drained out of them.

It was torture.

He avoided them as much as he could, staying away from the Great Hall and the Common Room.

He could see the hurt in their eyes.

He knew they were better off without him.

It wouldn’t be long before they realized it too.

He was a conflicted mess. He wanted to be with his friends more than anything. He wanted to talk to them and ask them to please help him before he completely lost his mind. On the other hand, he was terrified of putting them in danger.

He needed help.

His mind was like fractured glass, sharp and broken. His thoughts were betraying him, painting reality with terrors that weren’t there.

He needed help.

He didn’t know how to ask for it.

He just couldn’t get the words out.

He pulled himself together as much as he could and just kept going. He ignored the sleep deprivation and the moments where he forgot how to breathe. He taught Defense sessions with a smile, hiding how much he wanted to disappear. He caught the Snitch at Quidditch practice, answered questions in class, and turned in flawless homework.

He tried to forget that he spent his nights in the Library, searching for some way to contain the Dark Magic that was invading his head. He tried to forget that he had never felt more alone.

Nearly two weeks after the interview with Magical Monthly, his friends seemed to have accepted that he needed space. They still sat with him whenever he showed up in the Great Hall, but they didn’t try to make him talk. Hermione kept up her usual comforting banter, Ron continued his attempts to feed him, and Neville was just a comforting presence.

Harry had stopped trying to physically avoid them when he had realized that they simply weren’t having it. He kept his silence as best he could, hoping that they would get tired of him soon enough. Everyone did eventually.

It was only a matter of time.

The one person who didn’t seem to accept his desire for space was George. He was too stubborn and too observant. He was the one person Harry feared would never let him go.

Harry refused to engage with George beyond basic pleasantries, ignoring the ache in his heart when he saw the anger and hurt in George’s eyes. He didn’t yet understand that being around Harry was dangerous. He still saw the good in Harry that hadn’t been there for a long time.

Harry knew that he was acting irrationally, cruelly even. He wanted to stop. He wanted to just ask someone to help him.

He just didn’t know how.

After deciding that his only hope was figuring out a way to contain the Dark Magic of the locket and the tiara, Harry spent hours desperately searching through the Restricted Section. It was on the evening of the second Founders' League meeting of October that Harry found his answer.

In a book on advanced Warding was a Rune sequence that would allow someone to contain a Dark Magical object within a secure space. Despite appearing in an advanced book, it was a fairly simple Ward. The Rune patterns required a lot of power, but were simple enough to draw. Harry had brought himself up to OWL-standard in Ancient Runes over the summer, and that knowledge would be sufficient for this Ward.

He copied the Rune sequence into his notebook before pulling on his invisibility cloak and leaving the library. He felt hopeful for the first time since the interview. Maybe containing the Dark Magic would help him stop acting like such a fool. Maybe he would finally be able to feel happy again.

Immediately after classes ended on Monday, Harry retrieved the locket, the tiara, and his broom from his dormitory and headed to his chosen location: The Chamber of Secrets. He had needed a place to hide these objects where no one could possibly find them.

Since he was the only one who could gain access to the Chamber, it was the perfect place.

After politely declining Myrtle’s offer to share her toilet, Harry opened the sink and slid down the tunnel.

The Chamber was just as he remembered it: dark and dank. He tried not to look too hard at the decaying Basilisk carcass on the floor. After two years, it was a truly gruesome sight, all putrid flesh and old blood.

He settled himself in the far corner of the Chamber and pulled out a small knife. He carefully carved the circular series of seven Runes into the stone, taking care to get the shapes exactly right. Seven was quite a small number of Runes for a Ward, but this Ward had a very specific purpose: contain Dark Magic. It didn’t need to be complicated.

The Runes were those for “power,” “darkness,” “evil,” “protect,” “capture,” “contain,” and “trap.”

Once he had triple-checked his Runes, Harry took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for the insanity of what he was about to try. The reason this Rune had been in the Restricted Section was that the power of the Dark Object could actually overcome the caster if they didn’t have enough power. People had died using this Ward.

He placed the locket and the tiara in the center of the Rune Circle, feeling the familiar tugging in his scar as he released them from his hands. He set his wand to the central Rune and reached for his magic, letting it flow down his arm and into the Rune Circle.

Now that the Rune was activated, it would pull at his magic until the Ward was complete. If he didn’t have enough power, he would die. There was nothing to do about it now.

He tried not to think about how long his body would rot here before anyone figured out what had happened.

His magic was being drained at an alarming pace, flowing down his arm in burning tendrils of power. As the Ward began to take effect, his scar suddenly exploded in the worst pain he had ever felt.

He was being torn apart.

His head was about to explode from the pressure. He couldn’t hold back a scream of anguish as the ripping sensation spread to his chest, burning through his rib-cage. It was a hellish tug-of-war as the objects dug their tendrils deeper into him, struggling to hold on. He didn’t know how long he sat there, hunched over his Rune Circle, shaking in pain. His magic was beginning to ebb, faltering in the face of this task.

Just when Harry thought he might be beyond saving, the Ward materialized around the objects, ending the connection.

Harry collapsed to the ground, trembling from pain and exhaustion. The burning in his scar had not yet faded, and he could still feel the hot blood on his face from where it had been bleeding.

It was with a great deal of effort that Harry got to his feet. It took nearly all his remaining strength to keep from falling over, but he managed to drape himself over his broom and fly up the tunnel into Myrtle’s bathroom.

He cleaned the blood off his face, ignoring the fact that he looked like a corpse. He knew that he had just done something very stupid. He could’ve died down there. He could only imagine how angry Sirius and Remus would be if they knew what he’d just done.

He felt himself start to panic at that thought. He really was a terrible person. He knew it would kill Sirius if he died, and he had just played with his own life like it was nothing. There really was something wrong with him.

Once he had recovered a bit more, he cast a quick Tempus Charm. To his horror, it was nearly Midnight. He had been in the chamber for nearly 6 hours.

It was after curfew, and he hadn’t brought his invisibility cloak.

Great.

Now he had to walk through the corridors in the middle of the night, carrying his broomstick over his shoulder.

He had made it most of the way back to the Tower when he ran into one of the last people he wanted to see at that moment: McManus.

Harry couldn’t deal with this right now. He was absolutely wrecked, and he had practically no magic left. He kept his head down, trying to move past McManus.

McManus blocked his path.

“Look who’s out after curfew,” he said, gleefully.

“Who has Potter done in tonight? Another one of my friends?”

He looked right into McManus’ face, a sudden rage burning in his veins.

“Leave me alone,” He spat.

That was not the right thing to say.

In the dark hallway, Harry didn’t see the fist coming at him until it was too late.

McManus was a big bloke, and he hit like one. The blow sent Harry smashing into the wall.

Before he could be hit again, Harry whipped his wand out, lit it, and turned back to face McManus. He was just in time to duck another punch.

He was angry at McManus, but he didn’t want to hurt him. Harry understood why Cedric’s friends would hate him. In fact, he almost agreed with them. He had been partially responsible for Cedric’s death.

He ducked another punch, but failed to block the kick to his leg. His knee buckled and he dropped to the ground just in time for McManus to land another punch to his face.

Hoping that he had enough magic left for just this one spell, Harry pointed his wand at McManus.

“Petrificus Totalus.”

McManus went stiff as a board and toppled to the ground.

The wave of exhaustion that passed over Harry was so intense that he had to grip onto the wall to pull himself back to a standing position.

Harry turned back to McManus. The spell would wear off in about 20 minutes which would give Harry plenty of time to get back to Gryffindor Tower.

He approached the older boy, needing to say this.

“Look, McManus. I-I know you think that I k-killed Cedric, but I d-didn’t. It w-was my f-fault that he was there when V-Voldemort came back, but I never m-meant to hurt him. I just wanted him to take the Triwizard Cup with me. We were both going to win.”

Harry took a gasping breath, finding it very hard to keep going.

“I understand if you’re angry. I probably deserve it, but I’m really sorry he’s dead. I w-wish it’d been m-me instead.”

Despite the Full-Body Bind, Harry could see McManus’ eyes widen at that last statement.

“I’ll understand if you want to keep waiting for me like this, but I really wish you wouldn’t. I’m really not worth the effort.”

With that, Harry turned away and made his way back to Gryffindor Tower.

He had expected the Common Room to be empty.

It wasn’t.

George was sitting by the fire, looking more dejected than Harry had ever seen him. His head snapped up when Harry entered, his expression morphing from sadness to anger before the Portrait Hole had even closed.

“What the hell happened to your face?”

Harry raised a hand to his face, trying to cover the split-lip and blossoming bruises he knew must be there.

“Nothing. I just ran into a wall.”

“Don’t. Lie.”

“I’m not,”

Harry’s breath was speeding up. He couldn’t do this now. He was so tired.

“You are. You’ve been lying to all of us for weeks, trying to pretend you’re fine when you look like you haven’t slept in months.”

“I’m fine, George! How many times do I have to tell you that??”

George was standing now, his face red with anger.

“UNTIL IT’S TRUE!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

“You look terrible, Harry. You clearly need help, and I don’t know why you won’t let us in. Let us help you!”

Harry took a step back from George, feeling as if the room was shrinking.

“I really can’t do this now,” He whispered, keeping his eyes pointed at the floor.

“You can’t just ignore this, Harry. If someone hit you, that’s important. You can’t just ignore it.”

Harry shook his head furiously.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It DOES matter, Harry! If someone is hurting you, that MATTERS!”

“IT’S NEVER MATTERED BEFORE!”

It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Silence fell. Neither one of them spoke.

“It does matter, Harry.”

“It really doesn’t, and I don’t want to talk about this now.”

“You NEVER want to talk about it, Harry. You have to talk to us!”

“I CAN’T!”

Harry didn’t really know why he was shouting. Everything was too much. He was feeling too much.

“Harry…”

George reached out a hand, trying to take one of Harry’s

“Don’t touch me.”

It came out as a growl, a desperate sound. George let his hand drop.

Before he could say anything else, harry pushed roughly past him and ran up the stairs to his dormitory. He collapsed fully-clothed onto his bed, shaking badly. He kicked off his shoes, closed the curtains, and buried himself under the covers.

Harry spent the whole night awake, trying to erase George’s devasted expression from his memory.

Harry didn’t go to breakfast the next day. He couldn’t handle being around his friends right now. He had acted like such a freak last night. George had probably figured out what a mistake knowing him had been.

Harry arrived late to Transfiguration, sliding into a seat beside Blaise. The Slytherin gave him a very odd look. Harry guessed it was because he had woken that morning with a lovely black eye to match his dark mood.

To his shock, Professor McGonagall didn’t take any points. She simply stopped by his desk and quietly told him to meet her in her office at 7 that night. Harry nodded stiffly, just wanting her to go away.

Harry wasn’t sure how he made it through the day. By Potions, the last class of the afternoon, he was barely standing. He felt spent.  
He had no energy left.  
No emotion.  
He felt almost dead.

Even Snape seemed to sense his mood. The professor didn’t insult him once during the entire class.

Harry didn’t even care.

He skipped dinner, spending his time in the Library doing homework for Binns’ class. At ten minutes to seven, Harry grabbed his bag and headed to McGonagall’s office.

She was waiting for him, sitting behind her desk with an incredibly determined expression. Harry was surprised to see a steaming bowl of soup and a glass of pumpkin juice sitting at the seat across from her.

She gestured for him to sit. He did so, still incredibly confused by the food.

He just sat there, awkwardly fiddling with his tie, trying not to meet her eyes.

“Eat, Potter.”

He started at the command, nearly knocking the bowl of soup off the desk.

“Professor?”

“You weren’t at dinner, and you can’t afford to be missing any more meals than you already have. Eat.”

Not wanting to cross Professor McGonagall, Harry picked up the spoon and started to eat.

She regarded him critically for a moment before she spoke.

“Tell me, Potter. Do you have Amnesia?”

“Um, No?”

He had absolutely no idea where she was going with this.

“Then you must remember the conversation we had in my office several weeks ago. The conversation where you promised to ask for help if you needed it?”

Oh.

“Professor, I’m really fi…”

“If you even think about saying you’re fine, Potter, I will take 1000 points from Gryffindor.”

Harry stopped cold.

“You need help, Potter.”

“I don…”

“You do.”

McGonagall was looking at him with such understanding that Harry felt himself wanting to tell her everything.

“It’s okay to need help, Harry.”

Harry nodded, keeping his attention on his food so he didn’t have to keep looking at her.

“Your Godfather struggled in a similar way when he was your age.”

Harry jerked his head up, staring at her in disbelief.

“Really?”

“Yes. As I’m sure you gathered from meeting his mother’s portrait, he didn’t have the best situation at home.”

Harry nodded. Mrs. Black was a nightmare.

“He sometimes struggled with his emotions. When that happened, he would come talk to me.”

Harry was floored. He had never known this. Professor McGonagall gave a slight chuckle at his flabbergasted expression.

“I want you to do the same, Harry. You’re clearly not very well right now, and you need someone looking out for your well-being.”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I would like you to come here every Tuesday and Thursday after dinner. You can tell me about your week, you can do homework, I can even help you with your progress in the Animagus transformation.”

Harry choked on his mouthful of Pumpkin Juice. How did McGonagall know he was trying to become an Animagus?

“How…?”

“Your last essay had far more detail on the Animagus transformation than anyone else’s. I had a hunch. You just confirmed it for me.”

Harry blushed. It was a very good thing he wasn’t a spy.

“Are you willing to meet with me, Harry? I really think it’ll be good for you.”

Harry knew she was probably right. And if it had helped Sirius, it couldn’t be a bad thing.

“Alright,” He murmured, hoping that she really could help him.

“I won’t keep you for any longer tonight, you’re clearly exhausted. We’ll address that bruise on your face another day.”

Harry brought his hand up to his face, trying to cover some of the damage.

“Right now, you need to sleep.”

Harry shook his head almost unconsciously.

“I know you’re not sleeping, Potter. Anyone with eyes could see it. I have a Dreamless Sleep Potion for you. Madame Pomfrey agreed with me that you needed one.”

Harry suddenly felt very embarrassed. He had thought he’d done a better job of hiding how exhausted he was. Professor McGonagall seemed to sense his distress.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. You’ve been through something terrible. This is a normal reaction. I know it doesn’t feel that way, but there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Harry nodded. She was probably right. Professor McGonagall was pretty much always right.

“Before you go, I just wanted to ask you to please talk to your friends. I’ve gotten more visits from Ms. Granger and various Weasleys this week than I thought possible. They’re all very worried about you. George Weasley was almost in tears, in fact.”

Harry felt the guilt returning in waves. He was such a terrible friend.

“Talk to them. Even if it’s just for my sake. Now, go to sleep! I don’t want to have to tell your Godfather that I let you collapse on my watch.”

Harry smiled a little.

“Thank you, Professor.” He said, meaning it.

“You’re very welcome, Harry.”

He left her office and made his way back to the Common Room.

Ron, Hermione, Neville, Fred, and George were all sitting together in one corner of the room, clearly working on homework. Harry walked over to them on shaking legs, his heart hammering in his chest. He slid into an empty seat and pulled out his homework.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly.

They smiled at him, nothing but understanding in their faces.

Harry smiled back.

Around 11 pm, Ron and Neville headed to bed. Hermione and Fred followed shortly after, seeming to sense that George and Harry wanted to be alone.

“I’m sorry” He said again, trying not to look at George.

“I’m sorry too. I pushed you too far.”

Harry shook his head, lifting his eyes to lock onto George’s.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just…I’m kinda messed up.”

His voice cracked on the words.

George moved to sit next to Harry on the sofa, turning so that they were facing one another.

“That’s not true.”

“It is. I’m…I’m not really okay, George. I’m not sure I know how to be.”

George reached out and took his hands, squeezing tightly.

“Then, we’ll help you figure it out.”

Harry shook his head, trying to stop himself from crying.

“I-I really think I might be broken. I don’t know how to talk to people about stuff like this, and I’m just…I’m scared, George. All the time. I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

Harry suddenly found himself being pulled into a hug. He leaned into it, resting his head on George’s shoulder.

“It’ll be okay, Harry. You’re not alone.”

Harry didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but when they finally broke apart, Harry felt lighter than he had in weeks. He was still far from okay, but he no longer felt like he was sinking into a lake with no bottom.

He wasn’t alone.

As he took the Dreamless Sleep Potion that night, Harry said a silent thank you to the universe for giving him friends like these.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry will have ups and downs with his mental health, but this chapter is definitely one of the darkest places he'll be in. He won't always be this despondent, but I really think he's been through too much to be completely fine all the time. 
> 
> Next chapter will be a LOT fluffier. It's going to be my first attempt at writing a Quidditch Match (hopefully it's not too terrible). There will be more George, more McGonagall, AND the first real appearance of MALFOY!!! 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented or left Kudos. You guys are the best! I love hearing from the people reading this fic SOOOOO MUCH!! 
> 
> Next chapter is coming Wednesday!


	20. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin

As October faded into November, things got better. Not all at once and not completely, but enough for him to breathe again. 

There were flashes of light in the darkness. 

His friends helped him as much as they could, but Harry still found that he couldn’t share the majority of his feelings with them, no matter how much he might want to. 

There were so many things he wanted to tell them. 

He just wasn’t ready yet. 

His friends took his unwillingness to share in stride, never letting it affect their interactions with him. Conversation stayed light, and Harry was grateful for it. 

Being around his friends, just listening to them talk and laugh, was like medicine to him. It may not have healed all the wounds he had, but it gave him times when he could forget that they were there. 

To Harry’s surprise, what helped him the most were his sessions with Professor McGonagall. She seemed to understand that what he needed, more than anything, was someone to be there for him consistently. 

She didn’t make him talk about his feelings. She didn’t try to tell him how to get better. 

She was just there. 

She was a constant presence in his life, providing a kind of stability he had never experienced before. 

He felt normal when he was with her. He didn’t feel like a traumatized orphan, he just felt like any other 15-year-old kid.

She asked him about homework, classes, his friends, even Hedwig. They were the kinds of conversations Harry imagined that parents had with their kids. It wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary for most people, but to Harry it was everything. He felt that, if she had lived, his mother would have spoken to him like this. 

Harry guessed that McGonagall had played a similar role in Sirius’ life, filling in for the loving mother he never really got to have. 

Harry found that he slept best on the nights following his sessions in McGonagall’s office. On those nights, although he would still dream about the door at the end of the dark hallway, he had no nightmares. 

His meetings with Professor McGonagall also gave him a certain amount of freedom from Umbridge. The Toad had given him several more detentions, but she never interfered with McGonagall’s sessions. 

When Harry asked Professor McGonagall how she had gotten Umbridge to agree to that, she had snorted. 

“Honestly, Potter, it was too easy. I just told her that I was ‘disciplining’ you in an attempt to salvage what little remained of your character. She was eating right out of my hand! Foolish woman!”

Apparently, Umbridge’s unfailing belief that Harry was a hooligan made her quite easy to manipulate. McGonagall kept up the facade by bemoaning Harry’s delinquent behavior around Umbridge, making sure to project an air of disdain as she did so. Harry could tell that she found the whole thing rather amusing. 

Harry still ended up in detention with Umbridge about twice a week, but it was far better than spending entire weeks being tortured in her office. 

The other perk of spending so much time with Professor McGonagall was that Harry’s progress with his Animagus transformation had sped up considerably. McGonagall had used the meditation method herself when she completed the transformation, and she was full of excellent advice. 

She had told him to focus on the feeling of flying above all else and to just allow the animal to take over. He had tried the technique with great success. On just his third session with McGonagall, he had discovered his Animagus form: a black owl. 

Harry was delighted. 

Considering that his first real friend had been Hedwig, his form made perfect sense. 

Another bright spot in Harry’s life was the Founders’ League, especially the sessions with the younger years. The kids were just so joyful. Every little thing made them happy. Making them smile made him feel warm inside, like his soul was healing. 

He also found himself forming a close friendship with the little Hufflepuff girl, Claire, who had hugged him after the first meeting. She was a Muggle-born and the sweetest person Harry had ever met. 

It had all started when he had found her in tears in the hallway one evening, clutching a Potions essay to her chest. Professor Snape had completely eviscerated her efforts, peppering each line with copious insults and red-inked slashes. 

“I just d-don’t understand w-what he wants from me,” she sobbed, gazing up at Harry with huge blue eyes. 

“I’m s-so n-new to m-magic, and I j-just don’t understand the c-concepts.” 

Harry had never hated Professor Snape more than he did in that moment. He knew the man was on their side, but making children cry was not something Harry could stand behind. 

He knew that Claire was smart, he had seen it in the way she took to defensive magic. He also knew, however, that she was shy and tentative. She needed a teacher who encouraged her, not one who put her down every time she made a mistake. She needed someone to show her what she was capable of.

Harry vowed to be that person.

That was how he ended up spending his Saturday afternoons tutoring Claire in Potions. He was surprised by how much he enjoyed it. Claire was such a sweetheart and spending time with her was like a breath of fresh air. 

The first time she had brought back a Potions essay with an Exceeds Expectations, Harry had felt like he was walking on air for days afterward.

Not long after Harry had started tutoring Claire, he was approached by Neville, who looked very sheepish. 

“Hey, Harry?? IwaswonderingifyoucouldhelpmewithPotionstoo??”

Neville spoke so fast, it took Harry several seconds to understand what he was saying. 

“Of course, Neville. I’d be glad to help you. If you want, we can work together in the Common Room tonight on that essay that’s due Friday?”

Neville nodded, beaming at him. Harry felt that same warm feeling he got after sessions of the Founders’ League. 

Neville was another person who had great potential in Potions that wasn’t being realized because he was terrified of Professor Snape. Harry wondered if Neville’s upbringing had something to do with it. He could vividly remember Neville’s story about being dropped from a window by a relative. Neville had brushed it off as nothing, but Harry could see the hurt in his eyes. 

Being hurt by your own family should never happen to anyone. Harry knew how much it ached, and he wanted to help Neville however he could, even if that just meant helping him with Potions. 

Harry wondered if Neville’s clumsiness and timidity were his way of coping with authority figures he found intimidating. He knew that everyone handled it differently. Harry tended to run his mouth, often getting himself in more trouble, while Neville shrunk back, trying to minimize the damage. 

Harry enjoyed his time with Neville. The other boy was fiercely kind and brave in an understated way Harry had never noticed before. Harry also discovered that Neville had a natural flair for Potions. He shouldn’t have been surprised considering Neville’s abilities in Herbology, but it was still a shock to see how passionate his friend really was about the subject. 

Harry, wanting Neville to reach his full potential, began partnering with him in every Potions class. He did his best to keep Snape’s attention away from his friend, even if it meant losing points for Gryffindor. 

It was more than worth it. In the first week of November, Neville produced a flawless Befuddlement Draught. For a moment, Harry honestly thought that Snape’s head was going to explode. 

After class, Neville had given him a hug, and Harry just knew it would be a memory strong enough to fuel a Patronus. 

As the weather grew colder, Harry grew more and more excited. He could practically smell Quidditch in the air. The first match of the season would be Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, and Harry couldn’t wait. 

He hadn’t played in a Quidditch match since they’d won the Final in his third year, and he was more than ready to be back on the Pitch. His excitement was compounded by the fact that Angelina was a brilliant strategist. 

She had been researching the plays of professional teams and had come to the conclusion that the team wasn’t using Harry as effectively as they could be. 

“You’re our best flyer, and you’re wasted just spending all your time looking for the Snitch. You should be interfering with the other team’s Chasers.”

Angelina had drawn up complex plays that involved Harry blocking passes and generally being a distraction to the Slytherin Chasers. 

At first, Harry had been worried that Malfoy might beat him to the Snitch if they tried this strategy. When he expressed his concerns to Angelina, she had brushed him off. 

“Malfoy is the least subtle Seeker I’ve ever seen. If he sees the Snitch, you’ll know.” 

The morning of the match dawned cold and cloudless: perfect weather. 

Harry had barely slept the night before, which was pretty normal for him where Quidditch was concerned. The lack of sleep did not temper his excitement in the slightest. He pulled on his red uniform and practically bounced down the stairs. 

The team gathered in the Common Room before heading down to breakfast together. It was a tradition on the morning of every Quidditch game, a way for them to show their solidarity to the school and offer support to one another. 

Harry got a pleasant surprise when he entered the Hall. It seemed that nearly every member of the Founders’ League, regardless of House, was supporting Gryffindor that day. The Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin tables were peppered with red. 

Harry could see Malfoy glaring at Blaise who was wearing a completely red outfit complete with a Gryffindor scarf. Harry laughed. He knew how much Blaise loved messing with Malfoy. 

As soon as he’d sat down, Claire had rushed over to him, carrying a banner that read “Catch the Snitch, Harry!” in sparkly red and gold letters. It even had a detailed painting of him chasing after a tiny snitch. Claire was quite a talented artist.

“Do you like it??” She asked, looking gleeful. 

“I stayed up all night making it for you!”

Harry found himself getting a bit choked up at the gesture. 

“It's great, Claire!” 

It really was. 

“Here, I can make it even better,” George said, pulling out his wand and aiming it at the banner. 

One Charm later, and the painted Harry was zooming around the banner, chasing after the Snitch. 

“Cool!” Claire exclaimed, glee shining in her eyes. 

“I love magic!”

Harry smiled, recognizing in Claire the same wonder that he still felt for the magical world. 

Claire turned back to him, her tiny face growing stern. 

“Win the match, Harry! I didn’t spend all this time on a banner just for you to lose.”

“Don’t worry Claire, I’ll win it just for you!” 

She beamed at him.

“You better! Bye!” 

She skipped back to the Hufflepuff table, dragging the banner behind her. 

“I think we may have to worry about her starting a Harry Potter Fan Club,” Hermione said, teasingly. 

“She really seems to like you, Harry!”

“Did someone mention a Harry Potter Fan Club?” Fred asked, peering around Neville to look at Hermione.

“George and I have been trying to start one for years, but there hasn’t been sufficient interest.”

Harry threw an orange at him. 

“No starting Fan Clubs. If you do, I’ll tell your Mum.”

Fred gasped, clutching his chest as though wounded.

“You wouldn’t!!”

“I would,” Harry said, smirking. 

“Best not to risk it, Freddie,” George chimed in. 

“I wouldn’t want to go toe to toe with Harry. He’s disturbed and dangerous, or haven’t you heard?”

Another orange came sailing George’s way. 

“Oi, stop throwing fruit at us!”

“I will when you stop being a prat!” 

Breakfast passed rather quickly after that. 

Before Harry knew it, Angelina and Montague were shaking hands, glaring fiercely at one another. 

The match had begun. 

Taking off was exhilarating. Harry immediately rocketed high into the air, trying to get a good view of the action. He quickly noted that Montague had possession of the Quaffle and was zooming toward the Gryffindor goalposts. 

Harry sped after him, noticing that Pucey was edging closer to the goal, clearly waiting for Montague to pass to him. 

As soon as the Quaffle left Montague’s hands, Harry flew after it, using his broom handle to whack the Quaffle back toward the Slytherin side where it was deftly caught by Katie Bell. 

“An excellent play by Harry Potter!” 

Lee Jordan’s voice sounded across the cheering stadium. 

“Not many people know that Seekers are allowed to interfere with passes so long as they don’t touch the Quaffle with their hands.”

Harry, trusting Katie to take care of the Quaffle, turned his attention to searching for the Snitch, Malfoy trailing after him. 

“Is Weasley such a bad Keeper that they have to use you to help protect the goal?” Malfoy sneered, his face twisted into an ugly frown. 

“Shut it, Malfoy.”

“But then again,” Malfoy continued, acting as if he hadn’t heard Harry. 

“I guess you need to win for your Fan Club. I saw that Hufflepuff drooling all over you at Breakfast. I didn’t know you were so interested in little girls, Potter.”

Harry felt his blood boil at what Malfoy was insinuating. 

“I would at least hope you had better taste than that Mudblood.”

“Shut Up, Malfoy!”

“Make me.”

Fine.

If Malfoy wanted to play dirty, that’s exactly what he would get. 

Harry could handle being insulted himself, but he would not allow Malfoy to make comments like that about Claire. 

Malfoy would pay for that. 

The match continued, Harry running interference while keeping his eye on Malfoy, waiting for his opportunity to strike. 

Katie scored again, leaving the score at 70-30 to Gryffindor. 

“Katie Bell puts away another goal for Gryffindor. That girl sure can fly! She’s also quite attractive…”

“JORDAN” 

Harry laughed, Professor McGonagall and Lee Jordan were quite the comedic duo. 

As his amusement faded, Harry turned his attention back to his plan for Malfoy. He wanted to humiliate him. 

Harry didn’t normally want to embarrass people, he wasn’t a naturally vindictive person, but something in him had snapped when he had heard Malfoy talking about Claire. 

Harry had an idea. It was risky, but he was feeling rather reckless at the moment. He kept remembering the moment from the World Cup last summer when Viktor Krum had pulled off a flawless Wronski Feint that resulted in Aidan Lynch face-planting into the ground. 

Harry didn’t want to injure Malfoy, just make him look like a fool. A Wronski Feint would be the perfect way to do it. If Harry could pull it off, that is. 

He knew that the Quidditch Pitch had Cushioning Charms on it. More had been added after the Dementor incident in Harry’s third year. If Malfoy hit the ground after a dive, he would be fine. 

Harry made sure that Malfoy was trailing him. When he was positive that Malfoy was mirroring his every move, Harry drifted lazily into the center of the Pitch. He was around 50 feet up. 

Malfoy followed him. 

It was time. 

Harry, acting as if he’d caught sight of the Snitch, turned his broom handle straight toward the ground and dived. 

“It looks like Potter has seen the Snitch! Malfoy is right on his tail.” 

It was a very fast dive, one of the fastest Harry had ever attempted. The air was rushing in his ears, the harsh whistle nearly drowning out the screaming of the crowd. He could just make out the green of Malfoy’s robes in his peripheral vision. 

“Look at them go!”

Harry knew he was probably going too fast.

He could see the grass coming up toward him, faster and faster. 

“Sweet Merlin!! I think they’re going to crash!”

Lee was only half right. 

At the last moment, Harry brought his broom handle level, his toes dragging slightly in the grass, before he rose back into the sky. 

Malfoy was not so lucky. 

He wasn’t nearly as agile as Harry and was barely able to slow down before he hit the ground. Harry heard the crowd gasp at the audible crunching sound Malfoy made as he plowed into the grass. 

A quick glance down showed him that Malfoy was already sitting up, red with rage and humiliation. He looked uninjured but furious. 

Success. 

“POTTER JUST PULLED OFF A WRONSKI FEINT! ARE YOU SEEING THIS???” 

Lee Jordan was jumping up and down, shouting into the Megaphone. 

“I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF VIKTOR KRUM COULD HAVE PULLED OUT OF THAT DIVE!! THAT WAS SPECTACULAR!” 

Harry couldn’t hold back a grin at Lee’s enthusiasm.

“SMASHED MALFOY RIGHT INTO THE GROUND!! SERVED HIM RIGHT, THE GIT!!”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor. I’m just speaking the truth.” 

The crowd seemed to share Lee’s excitement, their cheers filling the stadium. 

Harry took a moment to scan for Blaise’s face in the crowd, wanting to see his reaction to Malfoy smashing into the ground. He had just found his friend’s face when he saw it: the Snitch. It was hovering just in front of the Slytherin section. 

Harry wasted no time. He sped across the Pitch, heading straight for the Snitch. 

He had just reached out his hand to grab the golden ball when it suddenly changed direction, heading straight toward the ground. Harry followed it, leaning into his second dive of the day. 

He followed the glimmer of gold toward the grass, tuning out the rest of the world. Inches above the ground, Harry caught it, closing his fist firmly around the cool metal. 

“Harry Potter catches the Snitch! Gryffindor defeats Slytherin 220 to 30!”

Harry landed, the rest of the team quickly joining him, trapping him in a group hug.

It had been a truly great game. 

As the team began to head to the locker room, Harry’s good mood was interrupted by an angry voice. 

“You think that was funny, Potter?” 

There was Malfoy, still looking furious. 

“Yeah, actually, I did find it funny,” Harry retorted, having no patience for Malfoy’s whining. 

“You’ll regret that, Potter.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do? Tell Daddy?” 

At Harry’s comment, Malfoy’s face darkened. 

“What would you know about having a father, Potter?”

Harry heard a sudden outbreak of whispering and realized that a small crowd had gathered around to watch them.

As much as he hated to admit it, that comment had hurt. 

“I would take my situation over yours any day, Malfoy. At least my father wasn’t a coward.” 

“Take that back, Potter!” 

“No! I’ll call anyone a coward who kneels at the feet of a sadistic madman!”

More whispers from the crowd. This was not good. 

“You dare insult the Dark Lord?” 

Malfoy said it in a voice Harry had never heard him use before. Instead of sounding like a spoiled brat, Malfoy sounded dangerous. 

“Yes. I dare.” 

Malfoy smirked at him. It was full of something Harry easily identified as hate. 

“You’d best be careful what you say, Potter. If you don’t, you’ll end up meeting the same end as your Blood-Traitor father and your Mudblood mother.” 

People full-on gasped at that. Harry didn’t care what they thought.

The words he said next were laced with a determination he had never felt before. 

“I’d be proud to die like they did, Malfoy. At least they were brave enough to die fighting. Your father and his band of cronies live their lives on their knees. I’d rather die than do that.” 

With that, Harry turned away and headed back to the castle, trying to ignore the fact that Malfoy might be right. Harry was quite likely to die, sooner rather than later. 

Thoughts of his death quickly fled his mind as the rest of the afternoon passed in a swirl of homework and preparations for the customary Gryffindor Victory Party that would be happening that night. 

By the time the party started that evening, Fred and George had somehow procured large amounts of Butterbeer and an enormous quantity of food. Harry still wasn’t sure exactly how they managed to pull off these parties. At this point, he thought it best not to ask. 

The party stretched past midnight, and Harry found himself settled on a couch with George, engaged in a fierce game of Exploding Snap with Neville, Ron, and Fred. After playing several rounds, Harry felt his sleepless night catching up with him. 

He encouraged the others to keep playing, deciding to rest his eyes for a bit. He was so tired, he barely noticed as he drifted closer to George. As his fatigue grew, he ended up resting his head on something warm, completely unaware that it was George’s shoulder. 

He was awoken around an hour later by McGonagall arriving to break up the party. When he realized that he had been sleeping on George, Harry felt his face begin to burn. 

“I’m so sorry, George! I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you!” Harry apologized, mortified. 

“No worries, Harrikins! I’m glad you deemed me worthy of being your pillow.” 

Harry blushed redder. 

As they got ready for bed, Ron and Neville kept exchanging knowing glances.

“You looked pretty comfortable on George’s shoulder, Harry!” Ron said, clearly amused about something. 

Harry was confused. 

“It was just an accident. I was tired.”

“Whatever you say, Harry,” Neville said, sarcastically, giving Ron another meaningful glance. 

“I have no idea what you two are on about.” 

“We know, Harry,” Ron said, holding back a yawn. 

“You’ll figure it out eventually.” 

Harry lay awake for a bit after that, wondering what in Merlin’s name his friends were talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Neville ship it, but Harry is completely oblivious! He's such an idiot sometimes :)
> 
> I hope this chapter makes everyone feel better after the last two. I decided that Harry needed some happy times!
> 
> Next chapter is coming SATURDAY and will see the publication of Harry's article and Umbridge's...less than pleasant reaction.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented or left Kudos! I really appreciate all of you :)


	21. Potter's Press

On a Friday evening, nearly two weeks after the Quidditch match, Hedwig appeared at the window of the Gryffindor Common Room, a rectangular package tied to her leg.

Harry rose from his place on one of the couches and went to the window, letting Hedwig flutter into the room and settle on his arm. He carried her back to his seat, placing her gently on top of his pile of homework.

He untied the package from her leg and carefully tore off the dull brown paper. The first thing he noticed was his own face, staring up at him from the glossy cover of a magazine.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, noticing what Harry was holding.

"That must be the advance copy of Magical Monthly. Ms. Clerihew said she would send you one!"

Harry didn't know what he'd been expecting, but this certainly wasn't it. The cover was dominated by a large image of his own face, eyes blazing and mouth set in a determined line.

"I told her to reach out to Colin if she needed pictures," Hermione said, sheepishly.

"I think that one is from a Founders' League meeting."

Harry looked back at the cover. He hardly recognized the person staring back at him. There was a fierce conviction in those green eyes, burning straight through him.

"It's a great picture," Ron breathed, sounding slightly surprised.

"You look really…"

"Brave," George supplied.

Harry was surprised to find that he agreed with George. The Harry Potter in that picture did look brave. He looked like a leader. Harry didn't even know he could look like that.

"Merlin, look at what it says!" Neville exclaimed.

Harry, who had been distracted by the photograph, finally noticed the words spread across the top of the magazine.

**LORD VOLDEMORT HAS RETURNED: Harry Potter's True Story and Why the Ministry is Determined to Cover it Up.**

Harry took in a gasping breath. He hadn't expected the magazine to come down so firmly on his side. They had even printed Voldemort's name instead of using a stupid nickname like You-Know-Who.

"This is amazing!" Hermione gushed.

"This magazine is really credible. I think a lot of people will start to question things after they read this. Let's see what's inside!"

Harry flipped opened the cover, surprised when a folded note slid out onto his lap. He unfolded the paper and read.

_Harry,_

_I cannot tell you how inspiring your interview was. I hope that this magazine helps people understand your story. You are a very courageous young man._

_The magazine will be coming out on Monday morning. We're expecting quite a response from the public. Because you're at school, I've arranged for any mail directed to you at Hogwarts to be sent to our office. I'll keep it safe for you, and you can come look at it at any time._

_Wishing you all the best,_

_Belle Clerihew_

_P.S. I've included something in this issue that should help your godfather. I hope he wins his freedom soon._

With shaking hands Harry handed the note to Hermione who read it aloud to the rest of his friends.

"There's something about Sirius in there?" Ron asked, confused.

"I guess?" Harry murmured.

"I don't really remember what I said in the interview."

Hermione gave him a kind smile.

"You told her about Wormtail, Harry. She was confused about it because Pettigrew is supposed to be dead. That's when you told her that Sirius was innocent and that he hadn't had a trial."

"Can you…can you tell me what's in here? I'm too nervous to look."

Hermione nodded, gently taking the magazine from his trembling hands. She flipped open the cover and studied the opening pages for several moments.

"It starts with a transcript of your interview. It's all the stuff you and Viktor said about the maze and then everything that happened in the graveyard."

Harry nodded, he'd been expecting that. Hermione turned more pages.

"Then they have an article on Barty Crouch Jr. and how he was impersonating Mad-Eye. It goes into how he put your name into the Goblet of Fire and how he was the one to make the Portkey."

She flipped further.

"Oh my! They even managed to interview Mad-Eye! He corroborates the story!"

She continued, skimming the pages quickly as she went.

"Then she writes about how the Ministry has tried to discredit you. She even has the transcript from your hearing!"

Hermione looked gleeful.

"This makes Fudge look like such a fool!"

"He does that all by himself," Fred muttered under his breath.

Hermione flipped another page, then stopped, taking in a gasping breath.

"Oh, Harry! Look!"

She turned the magazine toward him.

**Sirius Black Innocent: The True Story of October 31, 1981, and the Man who Paid for it.**

Harry felt his heart skip a beat.

"It tells the whole story! I told her about it after you left. Oh my…she looked through all the records in his case. They never checked his wand, they never even questioned him! He was thrown right to the Dementors. Harry, this might be enough for him to get a trial!"

Harry tried not to get his hopes up. He so wanted Sirius to be free, but life never seemed to give him what he wanted.

"It mentions us as well!"

"Us?" Harry asked, unsure of who she meant.

"It talks about that night in Third Year. How we tried to tell the Minister and how he didn't believe us. Oh…it mentions Snape as well. I told her how he wouldn't listen to us. He doesn't come off looking too good."

"Great," Harry muttered.

"Another reason for him to hate me."

A sudden spike of fear went through Harry's chest.

"Does it say that Sirius is an Animagus?"

"No, it doesn't. It just says that Wormtail is."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. It could be very dangerous for Sirius if the whole Wizarding World suddenly knew about his Animagus Form.

"Oh my," Hermione said, her voice suddenly sounding choked.

"Look at this picture…"

She turned it toward him. It was a picture of Sirius with his father. They looked to be around Harry's age. The resemblance between him and his father really was uncanny. They were both smiling, Sirius' arm draped around James' shoulder. They looked happy.

"And this one."

She turned the page again. This picture was clearly taken a few years later, probably after they'd graduated.

It was a picture of Sirius and his mother. The photographic Lily was shaking her head at Sirius in mock disapproval as he gestured his hands wildly. Harry could imagine exactly what they were talking about. Sirius was probably telling her about the prank he'd just pulled.

"and t-this."

She sounded like she was about to cry. It took only a moment for Harry to understand why.

The Sirius in this picture looked to be around twenty. He was smiling widely, grinning at the baby cradled in his arms. A baby with a shock of black hair and enormous green eyes.

"It's…"

Harry couldn't finish his sentence. He reached out a finger, tracing the lines of Sirius' face, wishing they could go back to that moment and change everything.

Ron put his arm around Harry in an uncharacteristic display of physical affection. Harry appreciated it. Ron's closeness stopped him from falling apart.

"She must have gotten these pictures from Remus," Hermione speculated, voice still shaking.

"There's only one more section, I think."

Harry heard her gasp.

"What?" He asked, wondering what on Earth could be more surprising than that last article.

"It looks like she got more pictures from Colin," Hermione whispered, turning the magazine toward him.

It was a two-page spread of photos. The title shook him to his core:

**The Real Harry Potter.**

It was a collage of his best moments at Hogwarts. It showed him laughing with Ron and Hermione, tutoring Claire in the Library, training with the Quidditch Team. There was one that showed him with Blaise and Neville, chasing after a piece of parchment that had blown away. There was one of him battling the Horntail, the fire just missing his robes, his face set in a determined mask. His favorite was one that showed him in the Common Room, surrounded by his friends, a huge grin on his face.

"It shows people that you're a student, a person. You have friends, passions. You're not a maniac who deserves to be slandered."

Neville was exactly right.

"These are great," Fred said.

"But I think we might need to talk to Colin about privacy."

That got a laugh from everyone.

"Maybe he just has a crush on you," Hermione said, thoughtfully.

"He better not," George muttered under his breath, clearly not expecting anyone else to hear.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"I just mean because…it's creepy to take pictures of someone you like…stalkerish…"

"Very smooth, Georgie," Fred teased.

George threw a quill at him.

"Anyway," George said, trying to change the subject.

"I think this magazine is going to convince a lot of people that you've been telling the truth."

"I hope you're right," Harry whispered, still staring at the pictures, wondering if he'd done enough.

By the time Monday morning arrived, Harry was having trouble keeping himself sane. He knew that he'd done the right thing, but he was still nervous to see the reactions his story would get.

He procrastinated going to the Great Hall, hoping that he could avoid the crowds.

That was a mistake.

As soon as he entered, nearly every head in the Hall turned to stare at him. He had never realized how many students read Magical Monthly.

Students were clustered in little pods, craning their necks to read from their friends' copies.

Harry tried to hold his head high, striding to the Gryffindor table and sliding in beside his friends.

He put a bit of food on his plate, trying to ignore the unnatural silence permeating the Hall. He had never heard Hogwarts this quiet.

The silence was suddenly broken by muffled sobbing. Harry turned toward the Ravenclaw table, already knowing what he would see.

Cho Chang was sitting there, clutching the magazine in her hands, tears pouring down her face.

Harry felt his heart contract painfully, wishing that he could have spared her this pain.

Her tear-filled eyes met his. She suddenly stood, the magazine still clutched to her chest.

She was coming toward him. Harry felt his body stiffen. Why was she coming here?

Maybe she had finally realized that he'd let her boyfriend die?

She arrived at the table, sliding into the bit of empty space next to him. Hermione moved over to accommodate her. For a moment, she just stared at him.

"Cho," He said, tentatively.

"I'm…"

Before he could finish, he felt himself being pulled into a hug. She was holding onto him so tightly he thought his ribs might crack.

"Thank you…Thank you…" She whispered into his neck, her voice still filled with tears.

Harry hugged her back, letting himself accept her thanks even though he didn't deserve it.

She finally pulled away, wiping her eyes and offering him a shaky smile. She stood up, clearly about to head back to the Ravenclaw table. At the last moment, she paused, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Harry," she said again.

All Harry could do was nod, stunned by her gesture.

It was only then that he noticed that the entire school was staring at him, teachers included. He caught Professor McGonagall's eye. She was smiling at him, pride clear in her expression. He smiled back at her.

He was just about to turn his attention back to his food when he made the mistake of looking at Umbridge. He expected to find her glaring at him. He expected anger or disgust. What he got was far worse.

She was smiling at him. A sick, demented, smile that made him suddenly very nauseous. Her message was clear: he was going to pay for this.

Harry was not at all surprised when she stopped him just outside the Great Hall. He was not at all surprised when he was given detention.

He was surprised when he entered her office and found a different quill waiting for him. Where the old one had been black, this one was red—the color of fresh blood. He sat down at the table, waiting for Umbridge to tell him to begin writing.

"As you can see, I've modified the quill a little bit for you. I didn't feel that the old one was imparting the lesson as well as it should have."

Harry picked up the quill, examining it with growing trepidation. What was it going to do to him?

"Go on, dear."

He set the quill to parchment, steeling himself for whatever was about to come.

_I must not tell nasty, attention-seeking lies._

He couldn't hold back a cry of pain. The cuts on his arm were already re-opening, just like they always did. The difference was that the words were being written twice. The first time, they were being carved, blood already spilling down his arm. The second time, right on top of the cuts, they were being branded.

The words were being written twice over, once in blood and once in fire.

Umbridge was suddenly grabbing his arm, examining it. It looked terrible. The open wounds were still there, but they were surrounded by a ring of raised, burned skin.

"It's working beautifully! I was worried the branding would make the message look fuzzy, but it hasn't! I wouldn't want you to forget your lesson, after all."

Harry stared at her, horror filling him. She was insane.

"Y-you can't do this," He spat at her, hating how his voice shook.

"Oh, but I can."

She walked to her desk, pulled out a parchment, and set it down in front of him.

It was a Certificate of Termination for Arthur Weasley. She had already signed it.

"Keep writing or I'll send that straight to the Ministry. I know money is tight for the Weasley family. I can only imagine how terrible it would be for your friends if their father lost his job."

Harry shook his head. She had gone too far.

"Keep writing."

He didn't know what to do. He had never felt more like a child. He picked up the quill.

_I must not tell nasty, attention-seeking lies._

The pain was so much worse. He had grown used to the cuts. He could handle that.

The burns were a different matter.

Merlin, it hurt.

He continued to write, trying to ignore the scent of burning flesh that began to mix with the perfumed air of her office.

"I'll tell," he choked out.

"Even you c-can't get away with this."

She just smiled at him, looking like a toad who had just caught a very juicy fly.

"You'll tell them what, Dear?"

"That you're making me…"

His voice died. He couldn't speak.

He tried again.

"That you're making me write lines in…."

He couldn't do it.

The words wouldn't come.

She was right in front of him again.

"You know, Harry…"

He shuddered as she touched his cheek, brushing away the tears of pain that had fallen down his face.

"I'm rather good at certain types of magic. Especially the kind of magic that ensures silence. When you speak of these detentions, all you'll be able to say is that I'm making you write lines in my own ink. I, of course, don't want you wasting your own ink in detentions. That wouldn't be fair."

Harry shook his head. She was sick.

"I'm also rather good at Compulsion spells you'll find. You should be feeling the effects any second now."

She was right. He was itching to keep writing with the quill. He WANTED to write with it.

He picked it up again, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold it.

_I must not tell nasty, attention-seeking lies._

_I must not tell nasty, attention-seeking lies._

_I must not tell nasty, attention-seeking lies._

"You're a monster."

His voice broke on the words, unable to disguise his agony.

She caressed his cheek again, her hands cold against his skin.

"No, Harry, I'm not. I'm helping you. Someday, you'll understand that."

Umbridge only kept him for two hours, letting him go just after 7.

It didn't matter.

Two hours was more than enough.

Harry had experienced pain before, many times. Nothing compared to this.

He stumbled his way to the Room of Requirement, relying mostly on muscle memory. When he arrived, he asked the room for a Potions lab.

As quickly as he could with his injured arm, he brewed a batch of Burn-Healing Paste, cooling it with a spell before spreading it onto his arm.

He could barely hold back his screams as he touched the abused flesh. Once he had covered the wound, he bandaged it and pulled his sleeve down. He bottled the rest of the paste, knowing he would need it again before long.

He was a fool.

He should have told someone about Umbridge before. Now, he couldn't.

He was such a fool.

He tried to remind himself of all the reasons he was doing this: to protect his friends, to protect Mr. Weasley. The reminders were hollow comforts, offering him nothing.

He knew that Umbridge would fall eventually, but he didn't know if he could survive this torture until that happened.

He kicked his bag in frustration, sliding down the wall of the Room of Requirement, cradling his arm against his chest.

His kick had let his bag fall open, the copy of Magical Monthly sliding out onto the floor. He stared at the brave face on the front cover, struggling to believe that it was really him.

But it was him.

That picture had been taken during a Founders' League meeting sometime in the past month or so. That meant that it was probably taken during the time when he had stopped sleeping, drowning in his terror.

There was no sign of fear in this photograph.

Maybe that was enough? Maybe he could exist like this photograph, a snapshot of bravery, concealing the pain beneath.

He turned to the article on Sirius, staring at his godfather and his parents, happy and alive. They had no idea what was coming.

His parents had never had the chance to live. His friends still had that chance. Harry would endure anything if it meant they could survive this war.

If that meant being tortured into insanity by Umbridge…

He would do it.

He pushed himself to his feet, making sure to pull his sleeve down to cover the bandages. His pain wasn't important. Not really.

He made it back to the Common Room, trying to look happy.

It was fairly late. The Common Room was deserted but for George who always liked to wait up for him after detentions.

"Hey, George!"

Harry slid onto the couch across from him, pulling out his neglected homework.

"Hi. Detention alright?"

"Yeah. Just lines."

The words were forced from his mouth against his will. Umbridge hadn't been kidding. She was very good at Compulsion spells.

They worked in silence, not needing to speak.

Harry was just about to pack up his things and head to bed when his scar began to burn. He couldn't disguise his gasp of pain, letting his books fall to the floor.

"Harry?"

George sounded worried. Harry tried to reassure him, but his voice didn't work.

Reality was bending around him.

_He was in a dark room. A shaking figure kneeling at his feet._

"Harry! Look at me!"

Hands were on his face. He could barely feel them.

_"You have failed me, Wormtail!"_

_His voice was harsh. Cold._

_"I'm s-sorry M-master. I was not able to retrieve it…it's not possible."_

_"Do not tell me what is impossible! For Lord Voldemort everything is possible!"_

_"Of course…Forgive me."_

"Please, Harry. Snap out of it!"

George's voice was full of fear. Harry hated the sound of it.

_"Apologies are not enough! CRUCIO."_

_Screams filled his ears._

The images collapsed, sending him back to his own mind. He drew in shaky breaths, finally taking in his surroundings. George was in front of him, holding his face, desperation in his eyes.

"George," he croaked, his voice weak.

"Harry, are you okay? What the hell was that?"

"I'm not sure."

He had seen Voldemort in dreams before, but never while awake.

"You're bleeding."

George's hand brushed over his forehead, coming back stained with blood.

"Yeah, it happens sometimes."

"This has happened before? Did you tell anyone?"

Harry's silence gave George his answer.

"Harry, you can't hide stuff like this! This is serious!"

Harry kept his head down, ashamed. If George was angry about this, Harry couldn't even imagine what he'd be like when he found out about the detentions.

"I'm sorry."

George sighed.

"It's okay. Just, please tell someone about stuff like this in the future, okay?"

"Okay."

He was such a liar. Maybe Umbridge was right about him.

"You should go to bed. Can you stand?"

Harry nodded, pulling himself to his feet. He gathered his stuff, heading toward the stairs.

"Harry?"

George's voice called him back.

"Yeah?"

George looked torn. He was biting his lower lip, an unusually serious look on his face.

"Please get help if you're hurt. I c-couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."

Harry nodded, turning away quickly so George couldn't see the look on his face.

Would George hate him if he knew that Harry was lying to his face?

Harry wouldn't blame him if he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umbridge is human garbage. Don't worry, she definitely isn't going to make it to the end of the school year...I have plans for her *laughs maniacally*
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented or left Kudos! I really love hearing from you guys! 
> 
> Next chapter coming WEDNESDAY!
> 
> I was hoping to update 3 times a week, but college this semester is hard! From now on, I'm going to be doing twice a week (Wednesdays and Saturdays)!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	22. Serpent's Shadow

December arrived almost without Harry noticing. The green of the grounds was replaced with the ghostly white of snow. The surface of the lake turned to ice, frozen and silent.

Harry felt very much like the lake.

Outwardly, he was calm and shiny, an out-spoken hero from the cover of a magazine. Inside, he was a whirl of emotion, rapids of rage and waves of weariness so deep they almost overwhelmed him.

The detentions with Umbridge were hell, an inferno consuming him slowly. After several weeks, he had almost grown used to the pain, but he could not shake the exhaustion. The compulsions she had on him were strong. Too strong. It was like trying to fight off the Imperius Curse all the time.

It was dark magic. The kind of magic that slowly sapped life from your body. He could feel it settling into his bones, reaching its tendrils into his brain, draining his strength to fuel its power.

He had tried to break the spells in a desperate bid for freedom. Unfortunately, breaking a spell on a person, especially yourself, was incredibly dangerous. When Harry had reached out his magic in an attempt to sense the spells Umbridge was using, he had been met with a terrifying realization: the spells were completely interwoven with his own magic.

He could hardly distinguish them from one another. Any attempt to remove them would likely render him a Squib or just flat out kill him.

He needed help. Someone to break the spells for him.

Umbridge had ensured that he was unable to ask for it.

She was a monster of the highest order dressed in the pink frills of innocence.

He loathed her.

After his failed attempt to break the spell, Harry had simply given up, taking his punishment in silence. He still had faith that she would fall. It kept him sane.

He found himself cherishing his time with his friends more than he ever had before. When he was with them the dull thrum of the compulsions faded into the background of his mind. When he was with them the ever-present pain in his arm dulled.

He clung to the bits of happiness in his life, letting them chase away the anger and pain.

What Harry found truly ironic was that, besides the torture, everything was going really well for him.

The issue of Magical Monthly had shifted much of the school to his side. The day after the magazine was published Seamus had come up to him, looking nervous and guilty. He had offered Harry a heartfelt apology and told him that he believed him.

It was easy for Harry to accept his apology. All of his anger was reserved for Umbridge and Voldemort. He didn't have any left for anyone else.

Just like that, Harry's friendship with Dean and Seamus was rekindled. The air of tension in the dormitory eased. The two boys had even agreed to join the Founders' League, adding to their ever-growing ranks.

They had gained twenty new members since the magazine had been published as students realized that theory wouldn't protect them from Voldemort.

One of the new members had come from a place Harry had never expected.

He had been sitting in the library working on a Potions essay, struggling to fit everything he wanted to say into his response, when McManus had approached him. On instinct, Harry reached for his wand, expecting an attack.

He let the stick of holly go when he saw the look on McManus' face. He looked devastated.

"Can I sit down?" he asked, gesturing at the empty chair across from Harry.

Harry nodded, setting his quill down. McManus sat gingerly in the chair, twisting his hands together roughly.

"I'm sorry."

It was a whisper, almost a plea.

"It's okay."

Somehow, it was.

Harry understood what had driven McManus. It was the same anger that had almost led Remus and Sirius, two of the best men he knew, to murder Peter Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack.

"It's not. I…I hurt you. I acted like a total jerk. I don't even recognize that person. I just…I was so angry, and I took it out on you. I'm really sorry."

There was nothing but sincerity and regret in those eyes.

"It's alright. I understand."

McManus had stared at him for a moment, like he was an enigma, a puzzle he couldn't solve.

"You know what you said, in the hallway, about how you wish it was you who died?"

Harry nodded, remembering those words all too well. He had meant it at the time. He still meant it.

"I'm glad you didn't. Cedric would have wanted you to live. He always said you were a good guy. I can see now that he was right."

In the course of that afternoon, McManus became Michael.

When Harry had tentatively asked him if he was interested in joining the Founders' League, Michael had accepted immediately, clearly interested in learning to defend himself.

Harry left the library that day feeling lighter. He knew that forgiving Michael had been the right thing to do. Grief affected people in different ways: for Michael it had been expressed as anger, for Cho it was sadness, for Harry it was paralyzing guilt. For Harry to deny Michael forgiveness would have been cruel in the extreme. He knew what guilt felt like. He wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone.

The Founders' League had changed since the magazine had come out, and it wasn't just the new members. The atmosphere of the meetings had changed, growing more somber. The students now understood the reality of what had happened to Cedric. How his life had been snuffed out in a single moment. It had changed learning how to defend themselves from a hobby to a necessity.

The magazine had also profoundly changed the way the other students looked at him. Instead of hate and distrust, there was something akin to awe in their eyes. Even the Professors were acting differently around him. Professor Sprout had given him a hug after Herbology, telling him how grateful she was to him for telling Cedric's story. Professor Flitwick had given him a box of Ice Mice at the end of class, quietly expressing his support.

Professor McGonagall's reaction had been his favorite. She had simply put a hand on his shoulder, looked him right in the eye, and told him how proud she was. It was a moment he would never forget.

Professor Snape's reaction was not nearly so pleasant. The dour man had grown crueler to Harry since the magazine had come out, insulting him frequently and taking points over nothing. Harry could understand why Snape was angry, but he couldn't condone it. Bitterness was not a helpful emotion, especially after so much time. He wished that his Professor would learn how to let go.

Harry let the insults roll off his back, but his friends had a much more difficult time letting it go. Hermione had to keep pinching Ron to stop him from yelling at Snape, and Neville kept glaring at their Professor when his back was turned. Blaise didn't even try to restrain himself. Every time Professor Snape took points unfairly, Blaise would point out his bias in a falsely polite voice. Each time he insulted Harry, Blaise would say something nice about Harry. Snape would grow more and more annoyed but would still refuse to take points from Slytherin. Blaise used this to his benefit, growing more and more outrageous with his compliments. It was rather funny to watch.

Harry appreciated Blaise's support. It was nice to have people back him up.

The support of his friends meant everything to Harry, but even they couldn't completely erase the effects of his nights with Umbridge. As the holidays approached, Harry felt the detentions beginning to wear him down more and more.

By the day of the last Founders' League meeting of term, Harry was exhausted. He had never felt this tired in his life. It was like his bones were filled with lead, dragging him down.

It was only the knowledge that he would be at Grimmauld Place in less than a week that stopped him from just staying in bed all day.

In the last few days it had gotten so bad that Harry kept falling asleep in the Common Room while they were all doing homework. Ironically, it was the best sleep he was getting. With his friends around him, Harry never had nightmares.

While Harry did appreciate the sleep he managed to get, it didn't stop the situation from being embarrassing. It wasn't that Harry was ashamed of sleeping in front of his friends, it was where he kept falling asleep.

For some reason, Harry kept falling asleep on George.

It was mortifying.

George didn't seem to mind, but Harry was still so embarrassed he wanted to sink through the floor.

It didn't help that Neville and Ron kept exchanging knowing looks while Hermione kept calling him adorable. He was definitely NOT adorable.

Wanting to avoid further embarrassment, Harry was struggling to stay awake. They had just returned from the Room of Requirement after a long day of Founders' League meetings. It had been the last session of the term, and it had turned into something of an impromptu Christmas party.

By this point, Harry was used to feeling tired. What he wasn't used to was feeling this cold.

It had started a few hours ago, an unsettling chill in his blood.

It had grown worse since then, sending tendrils of ice through his body. He was freezing.

Even now, sitting in the Common Room wrapped in a fuzzy blanket from Hermione, he was shivering.

"I just don't understand why you're so cold," she said, worriedly.

"M-maybe it's j-just the weather?" Harry offered weakly, knowing that didn't make any sense.

Hermione glared at him in that way she did when he was acting like an idiot.

"Of course it's not that! We're inside!"

She looked concerned now, and Harry could feel his guilt start to rise.

"Maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing?"

"No."

It was an automatic answer. The compulsions wouldn't let him do that. The Hospital Wing meant discovery, and Umbridge's spells would never allow that. The only way he could go to the Hospital Wing was if someone knocked him out and dragged him there.

"I'm just going to go to bed."

He got up, reluctantly handed Hermione's blanket back to her, and trudged up the stairs on shaky legs.

Back in the dormitory, he quickly opened his trunk, desperate to locate his warmest clothing. He found a pair of fleece-lined sweatpants, a thick sweatshirt, and a pair of heavy woolen socks.

He pulled everything on as fast as he could, trying to minimize the amount of time his bare skin was in contact with the frigid air. That done, he cast a quick Warming Charm on his bed, feeling the heat begin to rise from the blankets. He burrowed under the duvet, desperate to feel warm again.

He didn't cast the usual Silencing Spells around his bed that night, knowing that Ron and Neville were worried about him. If they couldn't hear him breathing, they might do something rash.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep just wouldn't come. Harry felt an odd coil of anticipation in his chest like something was about to happen. As the hours stretched on, the feeling grew stronger, and his body grew colder.

He was shaking badly now. Warming Charms and blankets were making no difference. It was as if he was being slowly frozen from the inside out.

He knew that something was wrong. He needed to get out of bed and tell someone what was happening.

He needed help, but he couldn't move. When he tried to sit up, it was as if his control of his own body had been cut off. He could still feel everything, but he had no control over any of it.

Before he could begin to panic, something changed. His vision began to split, his consciousness fracturing.

Part of him was still Harry Potter, still in the Gryffindor Dormitory. The other part of him was not.

_He was slithering down a dark hallway, tongue darting out to taste the air._

_The man was on the ground beside the door, clearly asleep._

_Red hair rumpled, light gleaming off his glasses._

Mr. Weasley.

Why was he seeing Mr. Weasley?

_He reared back, fangs exposed, lunging toward the man._

No.

_Fangs sunk into flesh, blood filling his mouth._

STOP!

Harry shouted the word in his own mind, unable to use his voice.

He felt himself split away from the snake. He was still aware of it, but he no longer WAS the snake.

He couldn't let this happen. He just couldn't.

He reached his magic out to the other half of his consciousness, grabbing for the snake's magic.

He found it and latched on, pulling hard, trying to get the snake to stop its attack.

_The snake released Mr. Weasley, coiling on the ground, eyes darting about to find the threat._

Harry, ignoring his panic, continued to pull on the snake's magic, draining its very life. He didn't know what would happen if he killed the snake while he was still connected to it like this. Would he die too?

He never got to find out.

Just as he was about to drain everything from the snake, a new force appeared in his mind. It was roaring anger, rage in its purest form.

Harry recognized it right away.

Voldemort.

The snake's magic was pulled away from him violently, taking much of his energy with it.

His scar exploded in pain and he couldn't stop himself from crying out in agony.

"What was that?"

Neville's voice. The others were waking up.

The lights flicked on.

He needed to tell someone about Mr. Weasley. He was lying on the ground bleeding. Harry couldn't let him die.

He tried to pull himself away from Voldemort's mind, but the other was so strong, trapping his consciousness in icy fingers. Harry pulled harder, desperately trying to disentangle his magic from Voldemort's. His vision was flashing terribly now. A mirage of images and perspectives flashing by in a whirlwind of confusion and pain.

_Darkness._

_The Chamber of Secrets._

_Piles of Gold, gleaming in the light._

_Long-fingered white hands._

_The Gryffindor Dormitory with scared faces staring at him._

Harry grasped for the image of his own reality, clinging to it with all the strength he had left. With one final tug, he released himself from Voldemort, falling back into his own body.

"Harry?"

Ron sounded so scared. Harry wanted to reassure him, but there was no time. Harry couldn't let Ron lose his father.

Ignoring the jerking tremors running through his body, Harry lunged for his bedside table, grabbing onto a lifeline: the two-way mirror.

"Sirius Black."

He stared at the mirror, begging the universe for his godfather to hear his call. After a few seconds, Sirius' face appeared. He was still dressed. It didn't look like he had gone to sleep yet. As soon as he saw Harry, his face fell.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

"Mr. W-weasley." He croaked, trying to ignore how Ron jerked beside him.

"He w-was attacked by a snake. I saw it. You h-have to h-help him, S-sirius."

"Where was he?"

"A dark hallway...in f-front of a door."

Sirius seemed to freeze for a second before he sprung into action, turning his back to Harry for a moment.

"Remus. Send a Patronus to Albus. Tell him that Arthur has been attacked while on guard duty. Then, send one to Minerva...Snape too. They can make sure the kids are okay."

Harry saw Remus moving behind Sirius, hurrying out of the room. Sirius turned his gray eyes back onto Harry.

"Listen, Harry, everything is going to be fine. Professor McGonagall is going to come get you, alright?"

Harry tried to nod, but he was still shaking too badly to control his movements.

Sirius seemed to notice this.

"Is Ron there?" he asked, sounding more worried than Harry had ever heard him.

"I'm here, Sirius," Ron said, moving into view of the mirror.

"How much blood has he lost, Ron?"

Blood?

What blood?

"I don't know, Sirius. Kind of a lot, I think."

That was when Harry noticed it. The red on his hands, on his sleeves, on the collar of his sweatshirt. He looked down.

His pillow and sheets were stained with blood, saturated with it.

"It's all from his scar, right?" Sirius continued, still looking panicked.

"Yeah, I think so."

Sirius nodded as if he had expected that.

"Harry, keep pressure on your scar okay? It'll help the bleeding stop."

Harry nodded, bringing one shaking hand up to his forehead, pressing as hard as he could through the shivers.

He was still so cold.

He could feel his blood soaking into his sleeve. Even his blood was cold.

Harry lost track of time, barely hearing the conversation Ron and Sirius were having. Barely noticing the shock and horror on the faces of Seamus, Dean, and Neville.

He only snapped back to awareness when Professor McGonagall arrived, looking incredibly flustered. Upon catching sight of Harry, she faltered, worry appearing in every line of her face. She quickly conjured a blanket and wrapped it tightly around him.

She gestured for Harry and Ron to follow her out of the dormitory. Harry found that he was shaking so violently that he could barely stand. Ron noticed as well, wrapping an arm around him and supporting him as they made their way out of the room and down into the Common Room.

Harry had never felt weaker or more exhausted. He was freezing cold and bleeding, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. More than anything though, he was afraid. Afraid for the Weasleys. Afraid that they would lose their father because he hadn't acted quickly enough.

He had let the snake bite Mr. Weasley. Sure, he had stopped it after the first bite, but he should have stopped the attack from happening at all.

If Mr. Weasley died, it would be his fault.

Fred, George, and Ginny were in the Common Room, looking pale and still in their pajamas. Harry couldn't even look at them.

"What happened, Ron? Professor McGonagall said Dad was hurt?"

Ginny's voice was so small, high-pitched and terrified.

"Yeah. Harry saw...something."

Before anyone could ask Harry exactly what he'd seen, Professor McGonagall ushered them out of the Common Room. Harry had barely enough energy to notice that they were taking the route to Dumbledore's office.

They had only been walking for a few moments when Harry felt his legs beginning to give out. Ron noticed, accepting more of his weight.

Harry could tell that Ron was beginning to tire himself out. Harry wasn't that heavy, but Ron wasn't exactly muscular.

"I've got him, Ronnie."

Another, stronger, arm wrapped around him, supporting him much better than Ron had been able to.

"Thanks, George."

Harry couldn't see George very well. He still had one hand pressed to his forehead, the sleeve of his sweatshirt obscuring his vision.

"How are you doing, Harry?" George whispered to him, failing to disguise the slight shake in his voice.

"M'fine."

Harry's words were slightly slurred. He was simply too weak to enunciate them.

"Right, of course. Silly of me to assume that bleeding from the head was cause for concern."

Harry could tell that George was trying to joke, but it fell flat.

"M'sorry."

He needed George to understand.

"What for?"

"It's my fault…I didn't..."

"Shut up, Harry."

There was an edge in George's voice, anger and fear.

"Not everything is your fault."

Before Harry could respond, they arrived at Dumbledore's office.

Harry didn't notice McGonagall give the password, he wasn't aware of the journey up the stairs. All he could feel was the terrible chill in his blood and George's arm around him.

The next thing he knew, he was entering Professor Dumbledore's office. All the Portraits were awake, chattering to one another. Dumbledore was standing at his desk, deep in conversation with Professor Snape. Both men looked up when the group of students entered.

For the first time since June, Dumbledore met Harry's eyes. It seemed to have been a mistake, an accidental connection as Dumbledore scanned the room.

But, mistake or not, green met blue. Harry searched Dumbledore's eyes for an answer. An answer to the question he wanted to scream into the night. He wanted to know what was happening to him.

Although he seemed to want to, Dumbledore did not look away. After a moment, the expression on his face changed into one of surprise as if he had seen something in Harry that he hadn't expected.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

There was concern in his voice, more than Harry had ever heard.

"No, he's most definitely not alright!"

George was nearly shouting at the Headmaster, his face contorted with anger.

"George…" Fred attempted to cut in, glancing nervously at the Professors.

"No. I'm serious. How the hell could you ask him that? He's covered in blood and seeing visions of You-Know-Who! How could he possibly be okay?!"

"Mr. Weasley, do not take that tone with the Headmaster."

Snape cut in, the normal venom creeping into his voice.

"It's quite alright, Severus. Mr. Weasley is correct. It was an insensitive question."

The twinkle was back in Dumbledore's eyes as he looked between Harry and George, clearly seeing something Harry could not.

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley. I will explain everything at a later date. For now, you are all going to go to Headquarters. Sirius and Remus will take good care of Harry, I'm sure."

George seemed satisfied.

"And our Dad?" Ginny asked, her voice still trembling.

"He has been found by the right people. He's been taken to Saint Mungo's, and your mother is already with him. Don't fret Miss Weasley, things are looking good. It seems that something stopped the snake before it could do very much damage."

Dumbledore turned his gaze back to Harry, calculating.

"Do you know how that happened, Harry?"

Harry could tell that George was about to start yelling at Dumbledore again, so he answered before George could interrupt.

"Yeah, I...I did something to it. I'm not really sure what though...sorry, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded, looking at him like he had never seen him before.

"That's quite alright, Harry. I'll come speak to you over the holiday, and we'll try to figure out what happened. Does that sound good?"

"Yes, sir."

Harry wanted to ask more questions, but he was just so tired. So tired and so cold.

Dumbledore seemed to sense that his strength was failing, moving quickly around his desk toward the group.

"I've made a Portkey. It will take you to Headquarters. Sirius and Remus are waiting for you. They'll be able to help you, Harry."

Harry gave a weak smile, happy that he would soon be seeing his godfather.

They all gathered around a blackened kettle, huddling close together. They each placed a finger on the Portkey as Dumbledore counted to three.

As the final number left Dumbledore's lips, they were snatched away in a rush of motion, images flashing by in quick succession.

Harry could still feel George's arm around him, grounding him as he was swirled into nothingness.

He felt his knees slam onto a hard floor as the interior of Grimmauld Place materialized around him.

He felt hands on his face, heard panicked voices all around him.

Whiteness was filling his vision, blotting out the faces of his friends, turning the world into a snowstorm of emptiness.

He didn't feel the arms that reached out to catch him as his reality faded into nothing.

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this count as a cliffhanger?? If it does..sorry :( 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented or left Kudos! I really appreciate the support :) 
> 
> Next chapter is coming SATURDAY!!


	23. The Coldest Day

Harry was floating.

Drifting.

Lost in a sea of white, a void of emptiness.

It was peaceful.

Quiet.

He wanted to stay here, away from everything, away from the dreadful chill that he could feel just at the edge of his awareness.

He felt ice encroaching, disturbing the peace of his mind, dragging him into wakefulness.

He could feel the weight of blankets on him, but they weren't enough to chase away the chill that was wracking his body with jerky tremors. His muscles ached with each involuntary movement. His head throbbed with every beat of his heart, pain radiating from his scar.

Voices blurred at the edge of his awareness, coaxing him into consciousness.

"How could we not have noticed that it was getting this bad? George said he's been having problems with it for a while."

The person sounded worried. Harry didn't want them to be worried.

"He clearly didn't want anyone to know."

"That doesn't matter! I should have seen that something was wrong! I talk to him all the time. How could I not have noticed that his scar was acting up?"

"It's not your fault, Sirius."

Sirius was here. He was here, and he was worried. Harry needed to tell Sirius that he was okay.

He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were so heavy, weighed down.

"He'll be okay."

"I know, Remus, but I just hate seeing him like this."

Harry's heart gave a painful lurch at the despair in Sirius' voice. He needed to reassure his godfather. He needed to tell him that he was fine.

He tried to say Sirius' name, but all that came out was a weak moan.

"Harry?"

Hands were on his face, gentle on his cheek.

"Harry, can you open your eyes for me?"

Harry didn't know if he could. He focused hard on forcing his eyes open, straining with the effort.

Bit by bit, the blurry form of his godfather came into view.

"Hey there, Harry. How are you feeling?"

"C-C-Cold."

"I know, buddy. Here."

Sirius gently slid his glasses onto his face, and Harry finally recognized that he was in his room at Grimmauld Place. Sirius was sitting in a chair next to his bed while Remus was standing near the doorway.

"What happened?" He croaked, not remembering anything from after they had left Dumbledore's office.

"You had a vision. Well, that's what we think it was anyway."

Remus stepped closer to the bed, resting his hand on Sirius' shoulder as he spoke.

"You lost quite a lot of blood, and you used up almost all your magical reserves when you partially possessed the snake. You passed out right after the Portkey arrived."

That explained the exhaustion, but not the terrible chill.

"But, why am I s-so cold?"

Remus frowned slightly, tightening his grip on Sirius' shoulder.

"We're not entirely sure. Dumbledore thinks it has something to do with the snake being cold-blooded. You were linked to it, albeit without your knowledge, for several hours before you saw the attack. It seems to have affected your body temperature rather dramatically. You're already warmer than when you got here, but it's going to take a bit of time before you feel normal again."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the strangeness of this situation. How did he get himself into these predicaments?

A sudden wave of panic surged through him. He lurched up in bed, straining against the weight of the blankets.

"Is Mr. Weasley okay?"

Sirius smiled weakly at him.

"Yes. He'll be fine. The whole family is with him at Saint Mungo's right now. They'll probably be able to bring him back with them tonight."

Harry let out a sigh of relief, flopping back onto his pillow. Then, he was struck by another thought.

"How long have I been asleep?"

Remus checked his watch.

"Around 15 hours. It's nearly 5."

15 hours? How was that even possible?

"You'll be pretty tired for a few days, Harry. Whatever you did to that snake saved Arthur's life, but it took a lot out of you."

Harry sighed. This was not how he'd imagined starting the Christmas holidays. At least he had only been unconscious for half a day this time. He'd been asleep for three days after the incident with the Philosopher's Stone. He was lucky to have woken up this soon. 

Sirius broke the silence somewhat hesitantly.

"If you're feeling up to it, we could move downstairs. There's a fire in the sitting room. It might help you warm up a bit."

That sounded nice.

Now that he was completely awake, Harry felt a little stronger. He was still terribly cold and achy, but he was reasonably sure he would be able to stand.

Sirius kept a strong grip on his arm as he pulled himself out of bed, feeling dizzy for a few moments before he was able to find his balance.

"I'm okay, Sirius."

Sirius reluctantly let him go, allowing Harry to cross the room on his own. Sirius and Remus headed downstairs while Harry made his way slowly to the bathroom.

By the time he made it there, he was exhausted again.

He could barely stay standing as he washed his hands. He looked in the mirror, noticing that someone must have cast a Cleansing Charm to remove the blood from his face and sweatshirt.

He couldn't help but be disappointed. If only someone had removed the sweatshirt, then they would have seen the bandage on his arm. Umbridge could have been discovered. He still wasn't free of her. 

Brushing away his dejected thoughts, Harry took a better look at himself. Sirius' concern made a lot more sense now.

He was unnaturally pale, almost gray, and his lips had a slightly blue tint to them. Despite having been asleep for 15 hours, he still had dark circles under his eyes.

Trying to ignore the fact that he looked like an actual zombie, Harry summoned his remaining strength and headed downstairs. By the time he made it, he was swaying dangerously.

Sirius noticed and hurried over, looping his arm around Harry and helping him to one of the sofas. It was then that Harry noticed how different the room looked. All the furniture looked restored: the surfaces clean and the colors bright. The sofas were a beautiful red that fit perfectly with the dark finish on the wood floors. The walls had been repainted an off-white color that gave the room an airy quality. The fireplace crackled merrily, completing the cozy space.

"Wow," Harry exclaimed as Sirius draped a heavy woolen blanket over him.

"This place looks amazing!"

Sirius chuckled lightly.

"Thank you. There's not much for me to do around here, so I decided to give this place a complete makeover. I've almost finished the first two floors."

Sirius sounded proud, and Harry was glad that his godfather had found something to fill his time.

The sofa was softer than a cloud, and Harry let himself sink into it. Sirius left the room for a moment, returning with three more blankets. He piled them on top of Harry, tucking them in at the edges.

Harry ended up lying curled up on the couch, cocooned in a thick layer of blankets and Heating Charms, feeling his eyelids beginning to droop. He was so tired.

"Don't go to sleep just yet, Harry. You need to take this."

Sirius was holding up a rust-red Potion. Harry recognized it immediately: a Blood Replenishing Potion.

"We gave you one when you were unconscious, but we'd rather be safe than sorry."

After Sirius helped him take the Potion, Harry burrowed back into the blankets, desperately trying to warm himself. The exhaustion was overwhelming him again, but he didn't want to sleep. He had questions. Lots of them.

He wanted to know how and why he was connected to Voldemort. He wanted to know why the hallway where Mr. Weasley had been attacked was the same hallway he had been seeing in his dreams for months.

He was about to open his mouth to ask when a new wave of exhaustion crashed over him. Maybe he would just rest his eyes for a moment. His questions could wait.

He woke several hours later to a hand stroking his hair, a soothing gesture. His body was still aching, protesting the constant jerking shivers.

"How is he?"

"Better. He was awake for almost twenty minutes earlier which we think is a good sign."

The hand moved to his face, ghosting across his forehead.

"He still feels really cold."

"We're not entirely sure how to help him with that. Dumbledore looked him over while you were all at Saint Mungo's and said it's a result of his magic being intertwined with the snake's for as long as it was. He'll be okay, but it might take a day or two for him to stop shivering like that."

"Is he in pain?"

The voice sounded choked.

"I'm not entirely sure. He didn't say anything, but that doesn't mean much where Harry's concerned."

"No kidding. He's rubbish at asking for help."

Harry wanted to say something in his own defense, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

"Are you sure you want to stay with him?"

"Yeah, I've got it."

Harry heard footsteps leaving the room.

He tried to pull himself out of sleep, willing his eyelids to open.

He only managed to make them flicker weakly.

"Hey there, Harrikins."

That was George's voice.

George was here.

Harry tried to speak, but couldn't produce more than a strangled noise of pain. He was still so cold. It hurt.

"It's okay. Don't try to talk."

The hand found his hand under the blanket, squeezing tightly. The hand, George's hand, was so warm.

"Just go back to sleep, Harry. You're okay"

Harry trusted George.

He let himself drift back to sleep, knowing that everything would be fine.

When Harry woke again, he found himself back in his bed, sunlight streaming through the windows.

A quick glance at the clock showed him that it was just after 9. Sirius was still in the chair beside his bed, fast asleep and snoring lightly.

Not wanting to wake his godfather, Harry slipped out of bed as quietly as possible. He was still shaky, but he was already feeling much better than yesterday.

He gathered a change of clothes, being careful to open and close his wardrobe silently. He made his way to the bathroom slowly, trying not to fall over.

Once there, he turned the shower as hot as it would go, letting the water warm him. The scalding water felt amazing on his aching muscles, easing the dull pain.

After about 10 minutes, he felt himself growing tired again, swaying slightly under the spray. The water felt so good, but he couldn't risk passing out in the shower. That would be beyond embarrassing.

He turned off the water and got dressed quickly, pausing to check the wound on his arm. Unwinding the bandage carefully, grateful he had thought to add water-proofing charms, he looked at the words carved and branded into his skin. They still looked terrible, but not infected. Good. That was the last thing he needed right now. He carefully re-wrapped the bandage before pulling on a sweater.

He made his way back to his bedroom slowly, leaning on the walls for support.

Sirius was standing in the doorway of Harry's room, looking worried.

"Harry! You shouldn't be up!"

Harry pushed himself off the wall, trying to demonstrate that he was stable.

"I'm okay, Sirius."

His words were undermined when he pitched forward, just barely managing to catch himself on the wall before he fell. Sirius rushed forward and gripped his arm while Harry regained his balance.

"You are most definitely not 'okay'. Come on, back in bed!"

Once he was settled back in bed, propped up on an enormous number of pillows, Harry could no longer hold back his questions.

"Sirius? What's happening to me? Why am I having visions of Voldemort's snake?"

Sirius sighed heavily, leaning forward in his chair.

"I should have told you this earlier in the year. I would have if I'd known your scar was bleeding."

He paused, seeming to weigh his next words carefully.

"Dumbledore thinks you have some kind of connection to Voldemort. I'm not sure exactly how or why, but it's obvious now that you do."

Harry nodded. It was hardly a shock. He'd always known that he was somehow tied to Voldemort through his scar.

Sirius continued, a pained look crossing his face.

"I had no idea it would affect you like this. Dumbledore didn't know either. He thought you might have some strange dreams, but he never expected you to have physical effects this extreme."

"It's okay, Sirius. I can handle it."

Sirius stared at him, gray eyes growing stormy.

"It's absolutely NOT okay. I don't think you quite understand what could have happened the other night. The drain on your magic was….well, you could have died, Harry."

That was a shock. He had known that his bleeding scar wasn't a good sign, but he'd never suspected that it could've killed him.

"Dumbledore's going to come talk to us after Christmas. We're going to figure out a way to stop this from ever happening again. I promise."

Sirius looked so sincere.

Harry couldn't help but believe him.

He didn't want to upset Sirius any further, but he needed to ask this question.

"Sirius, the hallway where Mr. Weasley was attacked...I've been seeing visions of it for months. Is it important?"

His godfather suddenly grew very pale, all color draining from his face.

"Sirius?"

Sirius closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head slightly as if trying to banish a thought from his head.

"I really don't want to tell you this, but I think it's time you knew. I promised you that I would tell you things when you needed to know them, and I think you need to know about this. For your own safety."

Sirius ran a hand over his face, turning to stare at Harry with concerned eyes.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Harry. What I'm about to tell you won't be pleasant to hear. I'm only telling you because I think you'll be in more danger if you don't know. This isn't something you should have to deal with right now."

Harry felt fear prickling at the back of his mind. Whatever Sirius was about to tell him must be pretty bad.

"The hallway you've been seeing is the hallway that leads to the Department of Mysteries."

"At the Ministry of Magic?"

"Yes. Voldemort wants something from there. A prophecy."

Harry was confused. Why would Voldemort want a prophecy?

"It's a prophecy about the only person who can defeat him. It's a prophecy about...you."

Harry felt as though he'd just been punched in the stomach, all the air leaving him.

"Me?"

Sirius grabbed for his hand, clutching it tightly.

"Yes. I don't know the whole prophecy, but I do know that it says that you have to be the one to defeat him. Voldemort doesn't know the whole thing either, and he's desperate to find out. That's why I'm telling you this. I'm worried he might try to use you to get to it."

Harry could feel himself beginning to panic. HE had to defeat Voldemort? HIM? A scrawny fifteen-year-old with no special magical abilities?

"Harry, listen. I don't care what any prophecy says. You don't have to do this. No one can force you to fight him. Hell, if I have anything to say about it, you won't be going anywhere near Snake-Face until you're at least 30."

"Is it a true prophecy?" Harry choked out, needing to know the answer.

True prophecies were very rare, but once made they were binding. There was no escaping them.

Sirius' face fell further.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Then I don't have a choice. If I'm the only one who can kill him, then I CAN'T just sit back and do nothing."

Sirius looked like he was about to cry.

"Maybe. But, Harry, you're still a child. You don't have to do anything for a long time."

"I can't just let him keep killing people while I enjoy school, Sirius!"

"I'm not saying you should! But you have to be prepared. You're nowhere near ready to fight Voldemort!"

"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?"

Harry didn't know why he was shouting. This was just too much for him.

"DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?? I'M NEVER GOING TO BE READY! E-everyone is going to die because I'll n-never be ready. Never."

Sirius moved off his chair, gripping Harry's shoulders tightly.

"That's not true, Harry. You are so strong. I have no doubt that you can defeat him, but you're not ready yet. We'll help you get ready, but not now. Right now you focus on learning everything you can. In the meantime, the Order will keep Voldemort at bay. I don't care what a stupid prophecy says, this is not your responsibility!"

Harry wanted to argue, but Sirius looked so desperate.

"Please, Harry. You can't let this destroy your life. If it's meant to happen, then you have to trust that it will. I promise I'll help you, but you can't try to take Voldemort on anytime soon. He'll kill you."

"But people will die while I'm…"

"No. Stop right there. The people who die in this war are NOT your responsibility. Unless you cast the curse yourself, you are not to blame for their deaths."

Harry wished he could believe that.

"Harry, look at me."

Harry brought his eyes up to meet Sirius', wincing at the barely suppressed panic he saw there.

"This is not your burden to carry. None of this is your fault."

"But.."

"NONE of it is your fault, okay? You are an innocent. It doesn't matter what destiny has ordained for you. You still deserve to have a life."

Harry so wanted to believe him, but he just couldn't. If he was fated to defeat Voldemort, then everyone who died while he sat idle would die because of him.

Another thought struck him. It was a thought that nearly made his heart stop.

"That night. When he k-killed my parents...he was only there because of me?"

Sirius seemed to sense where he was going with this, growing even paler.

"When he told my Mum to step aside...she could have lived. They both could have. If only I hadn't been born…I as good as killed them..."

"Stop. Please, Harry. Stop."

Sirius had tears in his eyes now.

"You didn't kill them. NEVER think that. Lots of people contributed to the events that happened that night, but you weren't one of them. Your parents loved you. They wouldn't have given up the time they got to spend with you for anything. And they NEVER would have let you die while they were still breathing. Please know that."

Harry could only shake his head, completely unable to speak.

He was vaguely aware of Sirius pulling him into a hug, but it felt distant. Like a dream.

Too many thoughts were swirling in his head. He was drowning in them, panic consuming him in the unbearable silence of terror.

"It'll be okay, Harry. I promise. We'll get through this."

Sirius was wrong. In that moment, Harry doubted that anything would ever be okay again.

Sirius held him for a long time, trying to hold Harry together as he fell apart silently.

After what felt like an eternity, Sirius pulled back. Harry felt himself being eased back onto his pillows, but he hardly noticed it. He felt paralyzed. The gravity of what he'd just learned was pulling him down into the earth, swallowing him whole.

"You need to eat. I'm going to bring you something."

Sirius left the room, pausing to glance back at Harry. His godfather seemed to think that he was about to shatter.

Harry thought he might be right.

It was too much.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't defeat Voldemort. He wasn't strong enough, and he probably never would be.

The panic was overwhelming, huge waves of it crashing over him. He let it consume him, feeling himself falling deeper into despair.

He didn't fight it. What was the point?

He let his eyes drift closed, suddenly grateful for the exhaustion that still plagued him. Maybe when he woke up he would realize that this had all been a terrible nightmare.

"Wow. He looks terrible."

Voices cut through his dreamless sleep, whispering to one another.

"Of course he looks terrible, Fred. Having You-Know-Who in your head isn't exactly pleasant."

"He looks so peaceful. I don't want to wake him up."

"We don't have a choice. He needs to eat, and I don't fancy trying to tell Sirius that we didn't even try to get some food into him."

The voices were moving closer. Harry did his best to ignore them. He wasn't ready to be awake yet, wasn't ready to face the reality of his life.

"Harry...Harry…"

Someone was tapping his face.

He rolled over, turning his back to them.

"Don't be that way, Harry. It's time to wake up!"

"We have some delicious soup for you! It's Mum's magical recipe…"

Harry ignored them, burrowing deeper into his pillow.

"Come on, Harry! Sirius has been worried sick about you all day! At least try to eat something before he loses his mind!"

Had Sirius really been that worried? Harry felt a terrible pang of guilt. He was a terrible godson. Sirius had done so much for him and here he was wallowing in despair like a baby.

He let his eyes flicker open, taking in the sea of red hair surrounding his bed.

"There he is! Welcome back to the land of the living," someone exclaimed, setting his glasses on his face.

The room came into focus. Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny were sitting around his bed, all holding plates of food.

"Hi guys," he croaked, his voice rough from lack of use.

"Hello yourself, Harrikins! Now, eat this magical soup before Mum comes up here and forces it down your throat."

Definitely not wanting Mrs. Weasley to force-feed him, Harry pulled himself into a sitting position and accepted the tray George handed him. It was loaded with a big bowl of soup and a large glass of water.

"How's your Dad?" Harry asked, swirling his spoon around in the broth.

"Great! He's downstairs at the Order meeting. We were sent up here to keep an eye on you for Sirius. We're having a dinner party while the adults talk about the boring war."

Harry grinned at Fred, happy that Mr. Weasley was alright.

"It's kind of ironic, really," Ron mumbled around a bite of his sandwich.

"Dad is the one who got attacked, but you're the one who's still recovering."

"That's Harry for you," George cut in.

"He always manages to save the day while nearly getting himself killed. It's a very concerning habit."

Harry felt himself blush. George did have a point.

He continued to play with his spoon, ignoring the concerned looks he was getting.

"Eat, Harry."

"I'm really not hungry."

"Harry Potter!" Ginny's voice rang out loudly, startling him so much that he dropped his spoon into the bowl with a clink.

"If you don't start eating right now, I'm going to tie you down and make you!"

Harry stared at her. How had he never realized how scary Ginny Weasley was?

"As much as we'd all love to see that," Fred said with a smirk,

"I think you should do as my darling sister says. If you get any thinner, you'll probably blow away during the next Quidditch match. That would be a damn shame...to lose such a brilliant Seeker because he refused to eat his soup."

"Fine," Harry muttered, failing to hide his amusement at Fred's propensity toward melodrama.

"Quit being so dramatic. I'll eat it."

The soup was delicious which was hardly surprising considering that Mrs. Weasley had made it. Despite how good it tasted, Harry had trouble forcing it down past the lump in his throat. His conversation with Sirius was still too fresh in his mind. He was barely holding the panic at bay, struggling to keep his breathing steady against the rising tide of fear.

The others chatted amiably around him, letting Harry eat in silence. He just didn't have anything to say.

A sudden knock at the door startled the group. Harry could barely hide his surprise when Professor McGonagall entered the room.

"Would you four mind if I had a quick word with Harry?" She asked, her tone commanding their attention. The others nodded, quickly gathering their empty plates and exiting the room.

Harry could only stare at his professor as she walked over to him and settled into the chair beside his bed.

"He told you about the prophecy."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

Professor McGonagall sighed,

"I'm glad he told you, but I'm very sorry you have to deal with this knowledge."

Harry nodded, avoiding her gaze.

"If you knew, why didn't you tell me?"

He didn't mean it as an accusation. He was just curious.

"Because, Harry, it is a terrible burden, one you should never have had to bear in the first place. It also wasn't my place to decide when to tell you. Sirius may not legally be your guardian, but he might as well be. This was his decision to make."

"I'm scared."

He didn't know what made him say it. Something about Professor McGonagall disarmed him, made him more open than he was around anyone else.

"You'd be a fool not to be. I'm scared as well. But, Harry, you will not have to do this alone. I will help you, Sirius and Remus will help you, your friends will help you. You are a natural-born leader, Harry. If anyone can do this, it's you."

Harry blushed, shaking his head.

"Don't disagree with me, Potter. I'm an old woman, and I've seen war before. I may not be glad that you have to bear this burden, but I don't doubt that you'll be successful."

Harry stared at her, not believing her words. She offered him a kind smile.

"You are more than capable of defeating him, Harry. I know you are. You have all the potential in the world, but you can't push yourself too far. I know you're worried, but you have to keep yourself healthy and sane. If you let this knowledge destroy you, you'll be doing Voldemort's job for him."

She was right. Of course. When had Professor McGonagall ever been wrong?

"You need to rest. Let yourself recover. When you get back to school, keep learning, keep growing. I'll help you as much as I can, but you have to promise me that you'll still live your life. I don't want to see you pushing your friends away or trying to give up Quidditch. Those things are still important."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

"Honestly, Potter, when will you learn that I know what I'm talking about? I've seen many brilliant Witches and Wizards in my time, and none of them got there by driving themselves into obsession. Your father was one of the best Transfiguration students I've ever seen, and he spent most of his time engaging in shenanigans. Your mother was the most formidable Witch I've ever taught, and she spent much of her free time reading trashy Muggle novels."

Harry laughed a bit at that, imagining his mother reading a bad romance novel.

"I have every faith in you, Harry. But you need to trust yourself and those around you. This task may have been destined for you, but you're a fool if you think that any of us are going to let you do it by yourself."

She gave him one last smile before standing up.

"Thank you, Professor."

"Don't thank me, Harry, just remember my advice. Take care of yourself."

With that, she swept from the room.

Harry sat on his bed for nearly an hour, turning Professor McGonagall's words over and over in his head.

The panic was still there, bubbling just beneath the surface, but there was also a fierce determination. He knew that he would do everything he could to take down Voldemort, even if he died in the attempt.

He wasn't as strong as Voldemort, and he didn't have nearly as much experience, but he had some things that Voldemort would never have. He had people on his side who actually cared about him.

And, of course, Voldemort's experience wouldn't help him if he was dealing with spells he had never seen before. Harry did have a knack for Spell-Crafting, and maybe that was what would make the difference in the end.

If he spent his free time at school crafting spells to stop Voldemort and the Death Eaters, then he might actually be able to help the war effort. It wasn't much, but it might just be enough.

With terror and determination coursing through his veins, Harry dragged himself out of bed and over to his desk. Pulling out a blank notebook and a quill, he took a deep, steadying breath.

It was time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry now knows about the Prophecy, but it's not going to be easy for him to come to terms with it. Fate is really a terribly unfair thing. Next chapter Harry will get to have a real conversation with Dumbledore. In my version of things, Dumbledore is going to realize his mistakes and actually start to communicate with people. That was always my biggest issue with canon Dumbledore. If he'd randomly died one day, there wouldn't have been anyone who knew about the Horcruxes...super irresponsible if you ask me (which no one did, so I'll stop talking now).
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, or left Kudos! I love hearing from all of you :)
> 
> Next chapter is coming WEDNESDAY!


	24. Destiny, Design, and Dumbledore

Harry had almost forgotten how much he loved Spell-Crafting. There was something about the intricate process that helped take his mind off things.

It had been three days since Sirius had told him about the prophecy, and Harry was determined to avoid thinking about it as much as he possibly could.

He had thrown himself into his work, spending nearly every waking hour trying to develop a spell that he hoped could bring a real advantage to the Order.

One of the major challenges the Order had faced in the last war was that Death Eaters relied heavily on the Unforgivable Curses. The traditional Shield Charm (Protego) was completely ineffective against these spells. The only feasible way to block the Unforgivables was to conjure an object to block the spell. Unfortunately, using conjured objects to block spells was difficult, taking far more energy than a traditional Shield Charm. A further problem came from the fact that conjured objects were generally small and would likely be destroyed after taking a hit from an Unforgivable Curse. The object would crumble after a single spell, leaving the caster vulnerable.

Harry envisioned a spell that combined the spell blocking abilities of a traditional shield with the physical blocking capacity of a conjured object. Such a spell would allow Order members to use a single blocking method for all kinds of spells, regardless of whether they were an Unforgivable. This would make battle scenarios easier as fighters wouldn't have to take the time to evaluate which type of shield was needed before casting.

There was only one problem: such a spell was thought to be impossible.

The Magical Structure of the Shield Charm and the Magical Structures of Conjuring Spells were entirely incompatible. Spell-Crafters had attempted to combine them before with disastrous results. The Magical Structures, when blended, reacted violently with one another, twisting and corrupting the magic beyond use.

Experiments with such volatile spells had even been known to cause explosions. Luna's mother had lost her life while attempting this kind of Spell-Crafting, unable to control the magic as it consumed her.

Despite knowing that this was likely a hopeless, and potentially deadly, endeavor, Harry refused to give up. He had faced impossible odds before. He would not be stopped by something as arbitrary as a Magical Structure. He knew there had to be a way around the incompatibility: a different angle, an avenue no one had thought to explore.

It was during dinner on Christmas Eve that Harry had an epiphany. It was a lively meal, laughter and chatter filling the dining room. Mr. Weasley's speedy recovery had left all the Weasleys in excellent moods, and Harry could practically feel the love radiating off of them. Watching their family was all the motivation he needed. He was doing this for them.

He was moving peas around his plate, trying to stab one onto each tine of his fork, when he was hit with the answer: the key wasn't to mesh the Magical Structures, it was to design a new spell that mimicked the effects of a conjured object. It wasn't the object that stopped the spell, not really. The only necessary component was that the spell never hit its target. If he could design something that could diffuse the energy of the spell, maybe even into the shield itself, then he wouldn't need to conjure anything.

"You good, Harry?" Sirius asked, looking a bit bemused.

It was only then that Harry noticed that he had been grinning like a loon.

"Oh, yeah, Sirius. I'm good. Just had a thought."

"Must have been a pretty nice thought," Sirius said mischievously, wiggling his eyebrows.

Harry blushed a bit, knowing exactly what Sirius was implying.

"Stop teasing Harry," Remus cut in, nudging Sirius with his elbow.

"You're a bad influence."

"Me? A bad influence? I've never heard a crazier accusation. I'm a model citizen."

Harry snickered.

"Actually, you're an escaped convict."

Sirius gasped in mock offense, bringing a hand to his heart as though in pain.

"You wound me, Harry."

"Good."

Sirius threw a roll at him. Harry caught it deftly, using his Seeker skills to his advantage.

"Thanks, Sirius!"

"Whatever," Sirius grumbled, clearly annoyed that his projectile hadn't hit its mark.

As soon as dinner was over, Harry made his way back upstairs as quickly as he could. He was still slightly weak from his encounter with the snake, and stairs left him winded. Once he could breathe properly, Harry made his way into the library.

If he wanted to somehow absorb the energy of the Unforgivable Curses, he would first need to understand their Magical Structure. He was sure there would be a book about the spells in the Black library, hopefully one that included the Spell Diagram for each of the three Curses.

Spell Diagrams were visual representations of a Magical Structure, usually complete with all the necessary information to recreate the numerical Magical Structure. They weren't commonly used in modern Arithmancy, but they were staples of older magic. The Unforgivables were generally thought to be relics of extinct ancient magics. It was part of the reason they were so powerful and difficult to block. Curses as old as the Unforgivables were almost guaranteed to have been recorded in the form of a Spell Diagram.

Harry began scanning the rows of books, taking note of titles he thought might help him. He was nearing the end of the shelves when a book caught his eye. It was a large tome bound in black leather. The title was written in nearly-faded silver script: _Secrets of the Darkest Arts._

Harry felt a strange flash of recognition as he pulled the book off the shelf. It was stronger than déjà vu. He had a powerful impression of holding this book before, reading it, coveting it.

Trying to ignore the foreign memories, he carried the book back to his favorite armchair. He flipped through the book quickly as he scanned for Spell Diagrams. It took him surprisingly little time to find what he was looking for. About halfway through the book was a chapter on the Unforgivable Curses complete with Spell Diagrams.

Grabbing his notebook from where he kept it stashed on a side table, Harry began the process of recreating the Magical Structures of all three Curses. He had just put the finishing touches on the Killing Curse, the last of the three, when Sirius entered the library.

"There you are! It's time to go to bed, Harry."

"I just need to finish…"

"Nope. You're still recovering, and it's almost midnight."

"Sirius…" Harry tried to protest, giving his godfather a pleading look.

"Don't try those puppy-dog eyes on me, young man. I'm a dog Animagus, I literally invented that look."

Harry sighed, knowing this was a losing battle. He dragged himself to bed, feeling his exhaustion catching up with him. He was asleep within minutes.

He woke to a wet feeling on his cheek. It felt like…

Wait. Was something licking him?

Harry's eyes snapped open, scanning the room for whatever creature was slobbering all over him. He saw a huge, blurry, black shape.

To his half-asleep brain, it was clearly a bear.

Harry shrieked and fell out of bed, landing hard on the floor. He grabbed his glasses and shoved them on, hopping back to his feet and preparing to flee the room.

It was not a bear.

It was a giant, black dog.

"Oh. Hi, Sirius."

His godfather transformed back, doubling over as he cackled.

"Your face! Merlin! And you actually SHRIEKED! The great Harry Potter….SHRIEKING!

"Shut up, Sirius!" Harry said, unable to hold back a smile as Sirius continued to laugh.

When Sirius finally regained control of himself, he pulled Harry into a hug.

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

This was the first Christmas that they would celebrate together. Well, the first that Harry could remember anyway. He guessed that Sirius had been there for his first Christmas as a baby.

"Happy Christmas, Sirius."

They made their way downstairs together, Sirius' arm draped across Harry's shoulders. He felt closer to his godfather than he ever had. The revelation of the prophecy had strengthened their relationship, forging their bond stronger.

As they entered the sitting room, Harry was almost blinded by the decorations glittering on every surface, sending fractals of light across the floor and walls. Sirius, as it turned out, was a huge fan of Christmas, and he had outdone himself in decorating the house.

Harry guessed that his godfather's enthusiasm stemmed from the fact that he'd missed so many Christmases while in Azkaban. He must feel the need to make up for it now.

Harry didn't blame him. In fact, he felt very much the same way. He always tried to make the most of the holiday because he'd never been able to celebrate it as a child. Years of watching the Dursleys celebrate while he was forgotten had made him appreciate the day all the more.

Harry found himself watching everyone very closely that day, trying to imprint every detail into his memory. While he hoped to have many more Christmases like these, he was increasingly aware that his time was likely limited. The prophecy loomed over him, casting a dark shadow over any happiness he felt. He kept wondering how many good days he had left.

He did his best to ignore the morbid thoughts, but they kept sneaking up on him, blindsiding him with the feeling that he was running out of time.

As he looked around the room, Harry found himself imagining where they would all be five years from now. Would they be alive? Would he be with them? Would he be the empty chair that no one wanted to talk about?

He felt almost at peace with the idea that they would move on without him while he remained frozen in his youth, consumed by death. It wasn't that he wanted to die, but he would rather die a thousand times over than let a single one of these people die for him.

"Wicked!"

The exclamation pulled him roughly from his thoughts. Ron had just unwrapped his gift from Harry. It was a small model of a Quidditch Pitch that Harry had spent hours enchanting. It was similar to Wizard's Chess in that the players were animated and would follow the verbal commands of the owner. Ron would be able to play fake matches with another person or just mess about with it by himself. Harry knew how much Ron loved strategy and was sure he would get many hours of use out of the gift.

"Harry, how in Merlin's name did you do this?" Mr. Weasley asked, reaching out to take the model from Ron's hands.

"This is some brilliant enchanting!"

Harry fought to contain his blush.

"Well, I used a bit of Parselmagic. It made it a lot easier than normal enchanting. If you look closely, you can see that there are little snakes on each of the players and the balls. It was the only way I could control it."

"It's fantastic, Harry! This is a stunning display of magic!"

Harry was slightly overwhelmed by Mr. Weasley's praise. He wasn't used to such effusive compliments.

In truth, he had greatly enjoyed enchanting Ron's present. It had hardly been a chore. He'd had so much fun, in fact, that he'd enchanted everyone's gifts.

He'd made Sirius a watch that was based on Mrs. Weasley's clock. It had hands for both Harry and Remus and showed where they were and if they were in danger. Harry had even added a lunar calendar to help Sirius keep track of the full moons.

Sirius had stared at the watch for a few moments, eyes sparkling. Seeing Sirius that happy, Harry thought he might be able to fly without a broomstick.

He'd made Fred an enchanted cat laser that he could use to distract Mrs. Norris. Fred had been overjoyed, claiming it was the best present he'd ever received.

"Maybe I'll try it on McGonagall as well!"

"I'd like to see you try!" Sirius interjecting gleefully.

"No!"

Remus and Mrs. Weasley cut in together, voices matched in their reproving tone.

Harry snickered quietly, hoping that this present wouldn't get him in too much trouble with Professor McGonagall.

For Mr. Weasley, Harry had enchanted a rubber duck, remembering how much the man liked them. The duck was charmed to wear a different hat on each day of the week. Mr. Weasley had been ecstatic, prattling on about how interesting Muggles were. Mrs. Weasley had looked slightly disapproving, but Harry was fairly sure she would forgive him after she opened her own gift.

Harry had made her a set of two-way mirrors. He'd always felt bad that she couldn't speak to her children while they were away at school. He knew how much she worried about them. Losing her brothers in the last war had made her very protective, and Harry wanted to ease her anxiety as much as he could. When he'd explained the function of the mirrors she'd wrapped him in a hug so tight he thought he might've cracked a rib.

The mirrors had been particularly difficult for him to create. He'd spent hours in the Room of Requirement and destroyed quite a few mirrors before he got it right.

Coming up with the idea for Remus' present had been easy for Harry. It was something Remus desperately needed. The man had a terrible habit of reading many books at once. Sometimes he would be in the middle of five or six at the same time. He was also truly terrible at keeping his place in those books. Harry often witnessed Remus frantically flicking through enormous texts, trying to remember where he had stopped reading.

Harry had made him a set of enchanted bookmarks. They were small circles that would activate when pressed onto a page. The next time the book was opened, it would flip directly to that page. To Harry's delight, Remus seemed very pleased with the gift.

After thoroughly examining the bookmarks, Remus glanced up at him with a curious look on his face.

"When did you have the time to do all this, Harry?"

Harry had been dreading this question.

"Oh, just whenever I had the time."

The truth was that he'd spent many of his sleepless nights working on these projects. The majority of the work had been done between midnight and 5 in the morning. That was not something he wanted to admit right now.

Remus looked skeptical but seemed willing to let the subject drop.

When George opened his gift, Harry found himself holding his breath. He'd had a very difficult time deciding what to get George. He knew him extremely well, better than almost anyone, but he was very afraid of getting him the wrong thing.

For George, Harry had designed an interactive book that would allow him to track his experiments easily. His current system was an erratic pile of parchment, disorganized and haphazard. The book would respond to his voice alone and would allow him to speak aloud as he conducted experiments, making notes as he went along. Harry had witnessed George grow frustrated many times as he forgot a change he'd made at a delicate step in a Potion because he hadn't had the time to write it down.

Harry had also charmed the book to be fire- and water-proof. George had a bad habit of knocking things over and setting them on fire while he was working.

Harry waited with bated breath as George read the instructional note he'd included with the gift.

"This is...just...wow."

George looked up at him, smiling widely.

"Thank you!"

Harry grinned back at him. He would have responded, but he'd momentarily forgotten how to speak.

The rest of the day passed quickly for Harry. He was almost able to forget, if only for a while, the terrible weight of fate pressing down on him.

As he moved through the day, he found himself building a vault inside his mind, a cache of memories to carry with him. Dark times were coming. He could feel it in his bones. Dumbledore was coming to speak with him in two days, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he would leave that conversation with an even heavier heart.

Harry found it impossible to sleep that night. He was so tired, but his mind wouldn't let him rest. His head was full of too many thoughts: fears and doubts racing around in a manic circle of panic.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. It had been a good day. Truly.

Why couldn't he just be happy? Why did he have to think about death and war? Why couldn't he just be a normal teenager for ONCE in his pathetic life?

Harry knew his thoughts were petulant and selfish, but it was 3 am, and he just didn't care anymore.

Finally giving up on sleep, Harry dragged himself out of bed and pulled on his new sweater from Mrs. Weasley. It was forest green with a stag stitched onto the front. Its softness offered a certain amount of comfort as he made his silent way to the library.

He settled himself onto one of the sofas, pulling out his notes on the Magical Structures of the Unforgivables.

He worked through the night, ignoring the light of dawn as it crept through the windows. He drowned his anxiety in the tedium of Arithmancy, burying his fears beneath the facts and figures.

He finally fell asleep around 9 am, his notes slipping from his lax fingers.

"Harry...wake up…"

Harry did not want to wake up. He was so tired.

"It's nearly lunchtime, and Mum will be livid if you don't eat!"

Harry forced himself awake, opening his eyes slowly. He immediately closed them again. He had a terrible headache. The light felt like knives being stabbed into his brain. It didn't help that he'd slept in his glasses, the wire rims pressing painfully into his face.

"Come on!"

The person had the audacity to shake him.

"Stop…"

"Not until you get up!"

Harry opened his eyes again, scowling as he realized who had been annoying him. George Weasley, completely unphased by Harry's irritation, grinned widely at him.

"Rise and Shine, Harrikins! It's almost 1 pm, and everyone's been waiting to see your lovely face."

Harry pulled himself up on the sofa, muscles protesting every movement. His head felt fuzzy.

"You good?"

"No. I'm going back to sleep."

He slid back down onto the sofa, burying his head in the cushions.

"Nope. Not happening. You're going to go downstairs and eat a normal amount of food. After that, you can go to sleep in your bed like a reasonable person."

"I hate you."

"Whatever you say, Harry!" George said merrily, grabbing his arm and pulling him up.

Harry made his way downstairs slowly, feeling a little disoriented. He'd barely gotten four hours of sleep and was feeling the residual effects of the snake attack more strongly than he had in days.

Lunch helped a bit, and he found himself in much better spirits by the end of the meal.

After they'd all finished eating, Harry made his way back to the library, determined to make more progress on his spell. This time, however, he wasn't alone. Sirius, Fred, and George joined him, claiming that they were working on a prank for the twins' joke shop. Harry knew better. They were babysitting him.

The fact that he'd slept until 1 pm had not gone unnoticed, and Harry could tell that Sirius was worried. Part of him was annoyed that Sirius and the twins felt the need to monitor his health, but a much larger part of him was warmed by the gesture. It was nice to have people care about your well-being.

Now that Harry had the Magical Structures of the three Unforgivables, he could begin developing a spell that could absorb their energy. It would be no easy task, but Harry thought it might be possible. The Magical Structures of the three spells were alike enough that he should be able to develop something that would respond to all three in a similar way.

The most difficult part would be making sure that whatever spell he created was compatible with the Shield Charm. If he was successful, he would be able to create an all-purpose shield that fueled itself off the magical energy of the Unforgivable Curses.

Harry was so absorbed in his work that he barely noticed the excited chatter of the twins and Sirius. Had he noticed, he would have been concerned. Getting those three together was not a good idea.

As the afternoon stretched on, Harry found himself once again growing tired. His eyes felt gritty from overuse, and his headache had returned, throbbing from his forehead to the back of his skull.

Deciding to rest his eyes for a few minutes before continuing his work, Harry set his notes on the side table and settled back into the sofa cushions. His eyes drifted shut, exhaustion overwhelming his resolve.

_Memories were flashing before his eyes, fractured and obscure._

_He was in a familiar classroom, cauldrons on every surface._

_Words fell from his lips...muted and disjointed._

_Sir, I was wondering….Restricted Section…. a bit of rare Dark Magic…_

_The scene changed abruptly, images rippling across his mind._

_A dark bedroom._

_A familiar man, white beard and half-moon glasses._

_A wardrobe on fire._

_A kneeling figure, face obscured by a curtain of dark hair._

_A forest_

_A man in a turban, wide-eyed and afraid._

_A young man with wild black hair and round glasses, wand at the ready, staring him down._

_The empty hazel eyes of that same man, lying cold and pale at his feet._

_A red-headed woman, beautiful and panicked, standing in front of a crib, tears streaking down her face._

" _Not Harry! Please! I'll do anything!"_

" _Stand aside…"_

_She refused to move, green eyes staring straight at him, searching for a mercy she wouldn't find._

" _Avada Kedavra…"_

_She fell._

_He turned his wand on the figure in the crib. The boy was small, so very young. Green eyes fixed on his mother's prone form, tears coating his eyelashes._

_This was the boy destined to be his demise?_

_The pale wand found its target with ease._

" _Avada Kedavra"_

_Pain exploded throughout his body. A terrible ripping, tearing, rending…._

"Harry!"

_His wand slipped from his fingers as he dissolved from himself, his body dematerializing into the dark night._

"Wake up!"

Harry jerked upright, heart pounding in his chest.

"Harry?"

Sirius was standing over him, eyes wild with panic. Harry wanted to reassure him, but he couldn't speak.

He was overwhelmed by what he'd just seen. Those were unmistakably Voldemort's memories. He brought his hand to his scar which was burning terribly. His fingers came back stained with red.

"I'm okay, Sirius," he gasped, failing to disguise his labored breathing.

"It was just a dream."

"That was no dream! It was Voldemort wasn't it?"

Harry nodded, glancing over Sirius' shoulder at the twins. They were both very pale, staring at him with identical shocked expressions.

"Yeah, but it wasn't like before. I think I was seeing his...memories."

"His memories?"

Sirius did not look at all pleased by this new information.

His godfather hovered around him for the rest of the day, refusing to let him out of his sight for longer than ten minutes at a time. Harry appreciated the company. The dream had shaken him far more than he wanted to admit. Seeing his parents' murder through the eyes of Voldemort— holding the wand that cast the curse, feeling sick delight as they died— had left him feeling nauseated and somehow corrupted. He felt almost evil.

By the time Dumbledore arrived the next day, Harry was more than ready for some answers. He needed to understand what was happening to him.

Harry, Sirius, and Remus met with Dumbledore in the dining room. The Headmaster was dressed in his usual blue robes, but his expression was somber, the twinkle absent from his eyes. Once he was settled, Dumbledore turned his piercing gaze onto Harry.

"I owe you an apology, Harry."

"You really don't have to…"

Dumbledore held his hand up, effectively silencing Harry's protests.

"You are very kind, but I really must apologize, Harry. I've acted foolishly over the past several months. I knew that there may be a connection between Voldemort and yourself, but I neglected to warn you of it. I believed that if I kept my distance from you, Tom might leave you alone. That was beyond arrogant of me. I should have known that the connection would manifest regardless of my actions. I should have communicated with you, and I deeply regret that I did not. I'm very sorry, Harry."

Harry could see true regret in the man's eyes. In that moment he recognized that, despite his brilliance, Dumbledore was just as flawed as any man. He'd made a mistake, sure, but he was trying to make up for it now. Harry couldn't fault him for that.

"It's alright, Professor."

Dumbledore offered him a small smile, and Harry returned it, glad that they had cleared the air between them.

"Now, I was wondering if you could describe for me what happened when you saw the snake attack Mr. Weasley."

Harry explained how he'd felt cold for hours before being pulled into a vision. He explained how he'd successfully separated his consciousness from the snake's. When he reached the part about draining the snake's magic, Dumbledore's face grew thoughtful.

"How was it that you were able to reach for the snake's magic?"

"Well," Harry said, searching for the best way to explain this.

"It was similar to Spell Sensing. I've used it a few times with the animals in Transfiguration, and I…"

"You can Spell Sense?" Remus asked incredulously.

"Um...yeah? I learned about over the summer...it was in one of the books in the library."

"That's quite a rare talent, Harry," Dumbledore said, seeming to sense that Harry was confused by Remus' reaction.

"Not many Wizards are able to see spells in that way."

"Well, actually, I don't see them. I hear them."

Dumbledore regarded Harry very closely, searching his face for a moment.

"Fascinating. I've never heard of auditory Spell Sensing before. I may ask you more questions about it at a later date. For now though, we must turn our attention to the prophecy."

Harry nodded, trying not to show the panic he could feel rising up in his chest.

"I'm afraid that I cannot reveal the entire prophecy to you at this time."

"Why?" Harry blurted out, unable to stop himself.

"Voldemort is desperate to know the entire prophecy, Harry. As long as he doesn't know it, we have a distinct advantage. He will be wary of you, and he will be distracted from pursuing other offensive measures against us."

That made sense. Keeping Voldemort preoccupied could only be a good thing.

"The problem is that, if I were to tell you the full prophecy, Voldemort may be able to take that knowledge from your mind."

"Oh."

"I will tell you, Harry. But first, you must learn something called Occlumency. It is the art of defending one's mind from external attack. It should help you prevent further visions, and after you have mastered it, I will tell you the full prophecy."

"Will you be teaching him?" Sirius interjected, regarding Dumbledore warily.

Dumbledore sighed, steepling his fingers together.

"I could, but it would not be best. I am a capable Occlumens, but there is someone who is far more skilled than I. He also has regular experience defending against Voldemort's mind. He would be able to teach you far more advanced techniques than I could. Considering your unique connection with Voldemort, I honestly think he would be the better choice."

"Who is it?" Harry said cautiously, already knowing the answer.

"Professor Snape."

Harry nodded. He'd suspected as much.

"I will not force you to do this, Harry. I am fully aware of the adversarial nature of your relationship with Professor Snape. Should you wish to learn from me, I will not deny you."

Could he learn from Professor Snape? Part of him wanted to demand that Dumbledore teach him and avoid spending any time alone with Professor Snape. But he also wanted to help the war effort. If Dumbledore really thought that Snape would be a better teacher, then shouldn't he agree to learn from him?

Harry also thought that the lessons might help improve his relationship with Snape. Maybe it was naive, but Harry hoped that if Snape spent enough time with him one-on-one, he would finally realize that Harry wasn't James. This was war, and Snape could be a valuable ally. Harry knew the man was a powerful Wizard, and it would be nice to be able to go to him for help should he need it.

"Alright. I'll learn from Professor Snape."

Dumbledore smiled at him, the twinkle returning to his eyes.

"That is a very mature decision, Harry. I thank you."

Sirius and Remus did not share Dumbledore's happiness. They looked worried.

"I'm not going to lie, Albus. I don't like this."

To Harry's surprise, it was Remus who spoke up.

"Occlumency involves a highly invasive learning process, and I don't know that I trust Severus with Harry's mind."

Dumbledore frowned.

"I'm not saying that I don't trust his loyalties, but I've seen him with Harry. He cannot see him as anyone other than James."

"I understand your concerns, and I will do my best to protect Harry. I do, however, have faith that Severus can move beyond his prejudice."

Remus did not look convinced, but he raised no further objections. Dumbledore left soon after that, leaving Harry alone with Sirius and Remus.

"If he gives you problems, please tell us," Sirius said suddenly, turning his chair to face Harry's.

"You don't have to learn from him, Harry. I'm willing to let you give it a shot, but I don't want you to continue if he's cruel to you. You have enough to deal with already."

Harry appreciated Sirius' concern, but he was determined to take lessons from Snape no matter how the man treated him. Harry had a responsibility to defend himself from Voldemort, and the petty grudge of his teacher wouldn't stop him. Anyway, he couldn't possibly be worse than Umbridge.

After reassuring Sirius that he would let him know if Snape tried anything, Harry made his way back to the library to look for a book on Occlumency. If he was going to have Snape messing with his head, he at least wanted to be prepared.

When he entered the library he noticed George sitting in one of the armchairs, nose buried in a Potions book. He looked up when Harry entered, offering him a warm smile.

"How was your meeting with Dumbledore?"

"Good. He wants me to learn Occlumency to stop the visions."

George frowned at that, furrowing his brow.

"Occlumency? That's meant to be really difficult to learn."

"You know about it?"

"Not much. Mad-Eye told me a bit about it over the summer. Is Dumbledore going to teach you?"

"Um...no…"

"Who then?"

Harry shuffled his feet, dreading George's reaction to this. He really hated Snape.

"uh...Snape."

Just as Harry had expected, George's face contorted in anger.

"What? Does Sirius know?"

"Yes. It's fine, George. I can handle it."

George sighed, face softening a bit.

"I know you can handle it. It's not about that. It's just that you shouldn't have to. He's only ever been cruel to you and…"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, surprised by his own urge to defend Snape.

"Don't make excuses for him, Harry. You always do that. I know he saved your life in your first year, but that doesn't make him a saint. He treats you like dirt, and you shouldn't have to spend time alone with him."

"I know he's cruel, and I know he's been unfair to me. But...I want...I don't know. I want to give him a chance? Maybe he'll get better. Maybe he can even get over his grudge against me."

"I think you're giving him too much credit."

"And I don't think you're giving him enough! Don't you think people can change?"

George shook his head slightly, clearly debating how to answer Harry's question.

"I do. I know people can change, but it's not your job to change them."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

Harry didn't have an answer to that.

"Just, don't let him walk all over you, okay? You can't let him get away with pushing you around. I know you think you can handle it, but it still affects you. Don't do that thing where you pretend everything's fine when it's not, okay?"

"Okay."

George smiled at him, setting his notes aside. He stood up from his chair, grabbing Harry's hand and dragging him toward the bookshelves.

"Now let's go find some books about Occlumency! I don't want you going into these lessons unprepared."

Harry let himself be pulled into the stacks, bolstered by the warmth of George's hand in his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spell-Crafting is back! I had a ridiculous amount of fun developing my own system for how spells are created, and I really hope y'all enjoy it :) I also hope that the Christmas fluff helped make up for some of the terrible things I'm doing to Harry...poor guy. Anyway, next chapter will see the gang's return to Hogwarts and the first Occlumency lesson!
> 
> Thank you to anyone who has commented or left Kudos. I really appreciate you all, and I love hearing your thoughts on the story!
> 
> Next chapter coming SATURDAY!


	25. Occlumency

Harry's Occlumency education was not off to a very good start. Despite searching for hours, he had found very little information on the subject in the Black library. It seemed that Occlumency was a skill that was transmitted from person to person rather than written down. The reason for this was unclear, and Harry was not particularly happy about it.

What little he'd found on the subject only increased his nerves. The key to Occlumency seemed to be the ability to clear one's mind of conscious thought. Harry was very bad at that. He'd never been good at relaxing, mind flitting between subjects faster than he could keep up. It had only grown worse since the graveyard. He simply couldn't think of nothing. As soon as he tried….well, his mind went to things he'd rather not think about.

Professor McGonagall had taught him some meditation techniques to help him with the Animagus transformation, but those techniques wouldn't help him with this. Focusing on his Animagus form would be a terrible strategy for Occlumency. From what he'd read, anything that revealed a personal aspect of your mind was like an open door to a Legilimens.

A talented Occlumens would be able to create false images to project in their mind, but Harry was nowhere near that level. For him to do well in these lessons, he would have to try to clear his mind completely. He doubted he would succeed.

Harry spent the entire train ride back to Hogwarts trying to figure out how he could make his mind an empty canvas. Everytime he got close, blankness descending, he would be snapped out of his trance by terrible images.

By the time the train pulled into the station, Harry had nothing to show for his efforts except a terrible headache and shaking hands.

He picked at his dinner that night, finding it difficult to stomach any food. His first lesson with Snape was the next evening, and he just knew it would be terrible.

The man himself had stopped by Grimmauld Place the day before, informing Remus that he expected Harry in his office at 7 pm on the first Tuesday of term. Snape hadn't even looked at him, speaking only to Remus. It was like he didn't even exist. Harry was not at all encouraged by the man's blatant disregard.

Harry knew he'd made the right decision in taking lessons from Snape. The Headmaster truly thought that Snape would be the best option, and Harry had no real reason to doubt him. Despite the man's many mistakes, Harry still trusted Dumbledore.

Harry continued to remind himself that he'd made the right choice all throughout classes the next day, repeating his reasons in a cycle of reassurances.

It did nothing to alleviate his worries.

The closer it got to 7, the more Harry became convinced that this was a terrible idea. Being alone in an enclosed space with Professor Snape was not something Harry wanted to do. Ever. The last time he'd been that close to the man had been during the detention incident when McGonagall had rescued him. The time before that, when Snape had accused him of cheating, he'd had such a bad flashback that he'd required Dobby's assistance. Neither McGonagall nor Dobby would be with him during Occlumency. There would be no buffer, nothing to stop Snape from doing whatever he wanted.

Harry hated how afraid he was. How could he possibly be expected to kill Voldemort if he couldn't even handle being alone with his Professor?

Harry was furious with himself for being such a coward. He'd survived so many things, but he was still haunted by small spaces and terrified of raised voices.

It was pathetic.

Harry knew that he was being unfair to himself. He knew that there were logical explanations for his fears. Hell, the self-deprecating thoughts themselves could be traced back to his childhood. Unfortunately for Harry, knowing that he was reacting normally to his circumstances didn't make him feel any better about them.

His greatest moment of panic came at dinner that night as he was using his spoon to squish his pile of mashed potatoes. Somehow, in all the time he'd spent thinking about Occlumency, it hadn't occurred to him that Snape would be able to see his thoughts. His memories.

Harry dropped his spoon, suddenly overcome by the true implication of these lessons. Snape would be able to see his memories. His past. The things that woke him up in the middle of the night, shaking and terrified. This man who hated him would be privy to things that Harry had never shared. That he never wanted to share.

"Harry?" Hermione was looking at him, her kind brown eyes full of concern.

"Are you alright?"

Harry looked up at her quickly, pasting a smile onto his face.

"Yeah, Mione. I'm fine. Just a bit nervous for the lesson tonight."

She nodded, giving him a fondly exasperated look.

"I'm sure you'll do fine, Harry. And don't call me Mione! I hate that nickname, and you know it. Just make the effort with the first syllable!"

Harry grinned at her, fears momentarily forgotten.

"I have no idea what you're talking about...I distinctly remember your name being Mione. Right, Ron?"

"Right."

"Actually," George interjected, smirking.

"I always thought the first part was more a pronoun. Like her Mione or his Mione."

"Exactly," Fred agreed, joining in on the teasing.

"Since you're a strong, independent woman, you own yourself. Hence, 'her' Mione...the 'her' being you."

Hermione looked up at the Enchanted Ceiling as though pleading for divine intervention.

"I hate all of you."

"Not true!" Fred said, gesturing to Harry and Ron.

"You love these two idiots, and they totally wouldn't have lived this long without you. At least Ron wouldn't have."

"Oi!"

"Sorry, Ronnie. You know I'm right."

Harry could feel a smile splitting his face, natural and genuine. His friends really were the best.

Harry left dinner early, not wanting to give Snape an excuse to start in on him. He loitered in the Dungeons for a bit, trying in vain to convince himself that everything would be fine.

He knocked on the door to Snape's office at five minutes to seven, his heart pounding. The door was flung open, revealing the scowling face of the Potions Master.

"In."

Harry obeyed quickly, just managing to slip through the door before Snape slammed it shut.

"Sit."

There were two chairs facing one another in the middle of the classroom. Harry picked the one closest to the door, wanting an easy escape route should this turn ugly.

Snape sat in the chair across from him, staring coldly at Harry.

"You are here to learn Occlumency. Do you know what that is?"

"It's the art of protecting your mind from external attack, Sir."

Snape leaned forward slightly in his chair, regarding Harry closely.

"That is a correct, if vastly over-simplified, definition. Occlumency is very difficult, Potter, and I will not tolerate your normal level of laziness. You will work hard, or I will kick you out. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"There is no better way to learn Occlumency than through practical application. I will attempt to penetrate your mind, and you will do your best to block me. Clear your mind, Potter."

Clear his mind. Right.

Harry tried his best. He really did. Nothing was working. His panicked attempts to clear his head were only making things worse. Thoughts were swirling around his head in cyclones, disaster looming as Snape began to count.

"Prepare yourself! 1...2...3..."

Harry wasn't ready. He wasn't ready.

"Legilimens."

_Harry was running, tiny legs pumping as he fled._

_Taunts were ringing in his ears as he rounded the fence, sprinting down the road._

_He was so close. If he could just get back to the house, everything would be okay._

_He never made it._

_Out of nowhere, a foot stuck out, sending him hurtling toward the ground. The wind was knocked out of him as he hit the pavement with all the force of his previous speed. He gasped, desperate for oxygen that wouldn't come._

" _There's the Freak! Did you really think you could run from us?"_

_Rough arms grabbed him, pulling him harshly to his feet. There were five boys surrounding him. He struggled against the arms holding him, but it was no use. Harry was dwarfed by the other boys, many of whom were several years older than him._

" _Don't panic, Freak. We just want to talk to you."_

_Harry struggled harder, his skinny body accomplishing nothing against the much stronger boys._

_The first punch hit him so hard, Harry's vision went gray. He would have fallen if it weren't for the violent fingers digging into his arm._

_The onslaught continued, blows falling on his face and chest. Harry stopped fighting, hanging limply, waiting for it to be over. This had happened before, and it would happen again. It would only be worse if he fought back._

_He was so hated around here. So despised. He saw a few of his classmates passing by on the sidewalk, letting his eyes drift to them in a silent plea. They looked away._

_At last, it was over. He was dropped back to the ground, the boys beginning to move away._

_One boy hung back. He was the older brother of one of the girls in Harry's class. He grabbed Harry's collar, pulling him back up._

" _If you ever steal from my sister again, I'll kill you, Potter. Don't think I won't."_

_Harry hadn't stolen anything. The girl had lost her mum's necklace at school, panicked, and claimed she'd seen Harry steal it. He hadn't. He would never._

_No one else had seen it that way. They had all thought that he'd done it. None of his protests meant anything._

" _Maybe I should just kill you. It's not like anyone would miss you."_

_The boy pushed Harry away, sending him falling back onto the ground. He gave Harry one last scathing look before turning and walking away._

_Harry sat there on the ground, fighting the growing pain in his body. He hauled himself to his feet, grabbing his worn rucksack from where it had fallen onto the ground._

_He trudged home slowly, dragging his feet._

_He was late._

_He knocked on the door of Number 4, dreading what his welcome would be._

_His Aunt flung the door open, glaring at him. She grabbed his already aching arm and pulled him into the house._

" _You're late. And you've been fighting again! Get inside quickly before the neighbors see you."_

_Harry crossed the threshold, trying to ignore the sting as his Aunt thrust him away from her._

" _Get started on your chores. Vernon will be home soon."_

_Harry threw his rucksack into his cupboard before trudging to the kitchen. There were dishes in the sink, waiting for him._

_He turned on the tap, trying hard not to cry. It wasn't like his tears meant anything anyway._

Harry was dragged violently back to the present, heart hammering harshly against his ribs. That had been terrible. Had Snape seen all that?

He glanced warily up at his Professor. The man was still staring at him, expression unchanged.

"That was abysmal, Potter."

"Sorry, Sir," Harry choked out, breath still coming in gasps.

"Don't waste your breath, Potter. I care nothing for your apologies. Just do better this time. You must clear your mind. You're like an open book, broadcasting your every emotion. Clear your mind!"

"But, Sir, I'm not entirely sure how…"

"Again. 1…"

No. Not again.

Harry desperately tried to clear his mind, squishing his thoughts into the back of his head.

"...2…"

Nothing was working. The effects of that last memory were still present, tugging his mind back into moments he didn't want to relive.

"...3…"

Harry braced himself, knowing what was coming.

"Legilimens."

_He was cold, the frigid air rushing harshly against his skin._

_His thin shirt was doing nothing to drive away the chill. He wrapped his arms tighter around his aching stomach, dragging himself toward the playground._

_It hadn't been a good few weeks. He'd accidentally used his 'freakishness' again, shrinking one of Dudley's old sweaters._

_Uncle Vernon hadn't been happy._

_He was so very hungry. It was almost unbearable, aching pains stabbing through his stomach and up into his chest._

_He finally made it to the playground, collapsing onto one of the swings. He kicked his legs a bit, rising slightly into the air._

" _Harry?"_

_He turned his head._

" _What are you doing out here, kid? You must be freezing?"_

_It was Max (short for Maxine...but don't call her that). She was 15 and his favorite person in the whole world._

" _Hey, Max! I'm okay, actually. I like the cold."_

_Liar. He was such a liar._

_She sat down on the swing next to him, smiling lightly._

" _Here. I brought you a sandwich."_

_She pulled it from her bag, and he found it very hard not to snatch it from her hands._

_It tasted so good. He'd almost forgotten what food tasted like._

" _Slow down there, squirt! You're gonna make yourself sick."_

" _Am not!" He retorted, mouth full._

_She wrinkled her nose at him._

" _That's gross, kid."_

" _Is not!"_

_They sat like that for a while, Max giving him her coat when he started shaking._

" _How're they treating you?" She asked quietly, as if she already knew the answer._

" _Everything's fine, Max."_

" _Don't give me that. It's a bunch of nonsense. I know they don't treat you right. I just don't understand why no one ever does anything about it."_

" _There's nothing to be done?" Harry offered._

" _Besides. No one ever believes me anyway."_

_She frowned._

" _I know, Harry. And I'm sorry."_

_She wrapped her arm around him, pulling their swings together._

" _But, hey! When I'm 18, I'll come adopt you. Or just steal you away. You deserve so much better than them."_

_Harry smiled. It was a pipe dream. One that kept him warm on freezing nights._

" _They wouldn't care. You could take me right now, and they wouldn't even come looking."_

_She gave him a sad smile._

" _You're the most cynical 8-year-old I've ever met. I wish I could help you more. I've tried calling the police even, but they always blow me off."_

_Harry shook his head._

" _They're not THAT bad, Max. They just don't like me."_

" _They also don't feed you."_

" _They do! I'm just picky!"_

_She glared at him._

" _Don't feed me those rehearsed lies, Harry. I don't want to hear it."_

_He stared down at his feet, cheeks growing warm._

" _Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be cross with you."_

_She glanced down at her wrist, pulling up her sleeve to look at the time._

" _I've got to go, kid. Party tonight! I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"_

_Harry nodded, waving as she ran off._

_Harry did not see Max the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that._

_It was nearly a week later that he heard the news. She'd been in an accident. One of her friends had thought it was a good idea to drive home from the party drunk. Max had been in the passenger seat when he'd crashed into another vehicle. She'd died on impact._

_Aunt Petunia had told him like it was nothing. Just another stupid kid making a bad decision._

_Harry hadn't been able to stop the tears from coming, harsh sobs ripping from his throat as he mourned the death of his only friend._

_She had left him. Just like everyone did. Just like his parents. In a drunken car crash._

_When she'd seen his tears, Aunt Petunia had cuffed him about the head._

" _Stop being a baby. It's her own fault she's dead. Getting into a car with a drunk. Foolish. Just like your mother and father. Irresponsible."_

" _That's not true!" Harry shouted, his tiny voice muffled by tears._

_She slapped him. Not hard, but enough for it to shock him. She didn't usually hit him._

" _Don't raise your voice at me!"_

" _Sorry, Aunt Petunia."_

_She huffed._

" _And stop crying. It's unsightly."_

The classroom materialized around him once again, but Harry didn't see it. He couldn't see it. He hadn't thought about Max in years. He'd forgotten how much it hurt. She'd been so kind. So good. He'd killed her too.

His hands were trembling. He didn't want to do this anymore. He wanted to leave. Now.

"That was somehow even more pathetic than your first attempt."

Harry raised his eyes to Snape, wondering how the man could still be so stoic after that memory. Maybe he didn't see the whole thing?

"Sir...did you see everything I did?"

His voice was shaking and small. Like he was still the little kid from the memory.

"Much of it, yes. It hardly matters. I shouldn't be seeing anything at all."

Harry felt as though he'd been punched. How could Snape not have a reaction to that memory? How could he not be affected by Max's death?

"Let's try again."

No. Not again. He couldn't handle doing this again.

Snape didn't even count this time. He just pointed his wand right between Harry's eyes.

"Legilimens."

_It was Winter again._

_Max had been dead for a whole year._

_He visited her grave often, bringing her flowers he picked from the side of the road._

_The walk was long, but Harry didn't mind._

_He still talked to her. Even though she was dead. Even though she'd left him._

_It was a Friday, and Harry headed right to the graveyard after school, practically running out the door._

_He found her grave. Empty of flowers. Bare._

_Her family had moved away a few months after her death, unable to bear staying near the place where she'd died. Harry wished he could have gone with them._

_He sat on the frozen ground in front of her grave, tracing his fingers along the ridges of her name: Maxine._

_She'd hated that name._

" _Hey, Max! I'm sorry it's been so long since I've been here. I was in trouble. Again."_

_He forced out a laugh, knowing she wouldn't have found it funny._

" _Anyway...um...I...I miss you. Like. A lot."_

_Harry sucked in a deep breath, wrapping his arms around himself._

" _I-I really miss you, Max. There's no one here for me anymore! I can't talk to anyone, and I'm….I'm all alone, Max."_

_He didn't cry. He hadn't cried since the day he'd learned of her death._

" _I don't...I don't want to stay here anymore. I just want to be somewhere where people actually WANT me."_

_He imagined what she'd say to that. She'd ruffle his hair and give him a big smile. She'd tell him that she wanted him. That she cared about him._

_But she was gone. Dead. Just like everyone else who'd ever loved him._

_He rose to his feet. He didn't want to be here anymore._

" _I'll be back soon, Max."_

_He would never come back. Not after what was about to happen._

_He was very late getting home. Very, very, late._

_The door had already been locked when he'd gotten there. He knocked, desperate to get out of the cold._

_The door was flung open, Aunt Petunia staring down at him._

" _Oh. You're back."_

_He moved to go inside, but she pushed him away._

" _You're late."_

" _I'm really sorry, Aunt Petunia…"_

" _Sorry's not good enough," she sniffed, glaring at him._

" _I don't think you deserve to come inside just yet."_

_She shut the door in his face._

_He tried knocking again, tiny fists pounding against the wood._

_No one came to the door._

_They were going to leave him out here. He moved into the backyard, trying not to panic. Surely they would let him inside soon. They hated him, but they would never let him die._

_It was so cold. Harry was so very cold._

_He didn't know how long he'd been outside._

_Too long._

_It hurt. Harry hadn't known that being cold could hurt like this._

_When Aunt Petunia finally opened the door to let him inside, Harry had never felt more relieved in his life._

" _Get in."_

_He rushed into the house, feeling the warmth begin to return to his body._

_Aunt Petunia left him in the hallway, and for a moment Harry thought that would be the end of it._

_He was wrong._

_Uncle Vernon rounded the corner, looking furious._

_Harry shrunk in on himself, trying to disappear into the walls._

" _Do you know how disrespectful it is to be this late coming home? When we let you live here. Answer me, Boy!"_

" _Y-yes, Sir," Harry stammered, not looking his Uncle in the eye._

" _From now on, you come straight home after school. No more visiting that freaky graveyard."_

_Harry looked at him, horrified._

" _But Uncle Vernon…"_

_Mistake._

_His uncle grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall._

" _Don't talk back. You'll come straight home, or I promise you that you won't like the consequences."_

_His Uncle wrenched open the cupboard door and threw him roughly inside. The door slammed shut._

_Harry was in the dark._

_Alone._

This time the memory seemed to end of its own accord, sending Harry floating gently back to awareness. His emotions, on the other hand, were anything but gentle.

"Enough," he gasped out roughly.

"Please. That's enough."

Silence.

Harry glanced up at his Professor. Snape was staring at him, looking even paler than usual.

"Yes. I think that is enough."

Snape looked like he wanted to say more, but thought better of it.

"Practice clearing your mind, Potter. Every night. Don't try to force it. That just makes it more difficult. I'll know if you haven't practiced. I'll see you on Friday. Same time. Dismissed."

Snape's words were not venomous. Not at all. He sounded almost...shaken.

"Thank you, Professor."

Harry rushed from the room, trying to calm his breathing. That had been beyond awful. He'd purposefully stopped thinking of Max, trying to spare himself some pain. Now, however, all those memories were at the front of his mind, filling his head with moments he desperately wanted to forget.

He made it back to the Common Room in a daze, ignoring his friends completely. He climbed the stairs to the dormitory, collapsing against the wall of the empty room.

He put his head in his hands, tugging at his hair, trying to pull the memories back out of his mind.

Hands found his, warm and strong, pulling his fingers away.

"Stop that. You're going to hurt yourself."

Harry let his hands be moved, raising his head to look up at George.

"I don't think you're supposed to be in here. You're not a Fifth Year."

George slid in beside him, leaning his shoulder against Harry's.

"No, I'm not. But there's no rule against going into other people's dorms. If there was, Hermione wouldn't be in here so often."

Silence fell between them. The only thing disturbing the quiet night was Harry's shaky breathing.

"What's going on, Harry? Did Snape do something?"

"No. It w-wasn't him."

He kept his eyes on the ground, ashamed.

"Then...what?"

Harry choked on a barely-suppressed sob.

"Harry?"

He didn't want to cry in front of George. He didn't want to cry at all. He was stronger than that.

"It was just...some memories...from a long time ago. I'm being stupid."

"You're not. It's NOT stupid to have emotions. Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry shook his head violently. If he tried to speak, he would lose it.

"I think...maybe you should try. You always bottle things up, and I don't think it helps you."

George was right. Harry knew that, but it was so hard.

"It...It was just about this friend I had when I was a kid. She was older than me...by a lot, but she was the only person who actually liked me…"

Harry took in a deep shuddering breath, a solitary tear sliding down his cheek.

"She used to joke that she'd adopt me….take me away from the Dursleys."

George's eyes grew dark at the mention of the Dursleys, but he stayed quiet, just letting Harry talk.

"S-she...died."

"Oh, Harry…"

"She w-went to a party one night, and t-there was a car accident. She was only f-fifteen. And I…."

Harry stopped talking, angrily brushing the tear away from his face. He would not be weak. He could do this.

"She...she died, George. Like everyone who gets close to me…"

"That's not true."

"But it is! I'm like a curse! She was fifteen and so GOOD! And I...I killed her…"

"No, you didn't."

"But…"

"No. Her death was an accident!"

"But maybe if I hadn't been around her…"

"Harry…"

George reached out, gripping his hand tightly.

"You've got to stop thinking like this. It's not healthy, and it's not true. You are not a curse. You're a wonderful, kind person."

Harry shook his head, emotions swirling in his chest. Too many and too fast.

"You are. Okay? You've had a hard life, and I so wish that I could change that. I would do anything to change it, but I can't. What I can do is make sure that you understand what you mean to the people around you. A lot of people love you, Harry."

"I don't deserve it."

He really didn't. He was such a pathetic…

"You do! Merlin, I don't know how to make you see that!"

George looked so sad. That was his fault. All he did was make people sad...or angry...or hurt...

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault, Harry. None of this is your fault. I'm just...I don't know how to make you understand how much we care about you. Ron, Hermione, Fred, Neville, Ginny, Blaise, Sirius, Remus, my parents, Claire, the Founders' League...they all love you. And you deserve that love. I'll prove that to you someday...that's a promise."

"Thank you…." Harry whispered, letting his head fall onto George's shoulder.

"Anytime. Just, please try to stop yourself from thinking like this. You aren't an omen of death, Harry. You give a lot of people more reason to live...including me."

George added that last part so quietly, Harry almost missed it.

They stayed there for a long time, Harry slowly regaining control of himself. When he could finally think again, Harry lifted his head off George's shoulder, blushing a bit.

"Um...sorry for using you as a pillow...again."

George laughed.

"I really don't mind. You doing better now?"

"Yeah."

He did feel better. Much better.

"Good. Now, let's go back downstairs. I haven't done my Transfiguration homework in nearly two weeks, and I think McGonagall's going to murder me if I don't turn it in soon."

"Why haven't you done it?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I've got better things to do, Harrikins!"

"Like what?"

"That's classified."

Harry laughed. There was a warm feeling in his chest as he looked at George. A feeling he'd never felt before. It was nice.

They made their way back downstairs together, rejoining the rest of their friends. No one said anything about his meltdown, and Harry was grateful. It was nice to just sit by the fire doing homework, pretending that everything was fine.

The dull ache in his chest had faded when he was with George, but it returned that night as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He wanted to believe George's words, wanted them to be true so badly. But something inside him was broken, twisted, ruined. He was a mere shell of the person he should be, hollowed out and empty.

That night his darkest fears rose to the surface. His dreams were a catalog of death, despair, and dark cupboards.

When he woke, however, there was a foreign happiness, a perverse pleasure, overwhelming his mind. Voldemort was happy about something. That couldn't possibly mean anything good.

Harry pulled himself out of bed, hoping that he wasn't about to receive bad news. When he entered the Great Hall, he could tell that his hopes were for naught.

The headline of the Daily Prophet told him all he needed to know.

**Mass Breakout from Azkaban: Death Eaters at Large.**

Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting a day early because...why not? This chapter was one of my favorites to write (even though I got tears on my keyboard) because I really enjoy exploring Harry's childhood. Rowling gave us very little information about what he went through, and there's a lot to unpack there. One thing I wanted to motivate for Harry's character is his "saving people thing." He shows signs of it as early as first year, and I think Max's death helps explain why he acts that way. Also, I hope to give Snape the character arc/redemption I wanted for him in canon. That means that he's not going to turn warm and fluffy, (because then he wouldn't be Snape) but he will get better.
> 
> Harry's not very good at Occlumency, and I think that makes sense for his character. He'll get better, but not for a while. Occlumency lessons, as this chapter demonstrated, are going to be really hard for him.
> 
> Next chapter is the FINAL DETENTION WITH UMBRIDGE (that's all I'll say on the matter)
> 
> I'm gonna post it on TUESDAY because I have a midterm late next week and I'll be focussing on that pretty exclusively from Wednesday on. I'll try to stick to my updating schedule (Wed +Sat), but if I deviate I'll only ever post early (never late.)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, commenting, and leaving Kudos. It really means a lot to me :)


	26. Consequence of a Quill

There was only one good thing about the Azkaban Breakout: The Daily Prophet had, for once, criticized the Minister of Magic. Cornelius Fudge was in trouble. The mass exodus of Death Eaters from what was supposed to be a secure facility made Fudge's denials of Voldemort's return all the more suspect.

The Minister had also made the mistake of trying to blame the breakout on Sirius. It seemed that the Magical Monthly article on Sirius had made an impact, and the editors of the Prophet made no effort to hide their skepticism.

Fudge was in trouble, and Umbridge was livid.

She'd come down to breakfast that morning looking ruffled and furious, bow lopsided on her head. She'd spent the entire meal glaring at the students, looking as though she wanted to strangle anyone who was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet.

The scene would've been funny if Harry didn't know what the woman was capable of.

"Umbridge looks about ready to explode," Ron murmured as the woman sent a burning glance in their direction.

"Well, this is bad news for her. If Fudge is ousted, she won't be far behind," Hermione added, looking up from the newspaper to examine Umbridge.

"I can't wait until she's gone. It's such a farce to pretend she's got equal power with Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore's done a good job of it though," Neville said thoughtfully.

"He's made her feel like she has a lot of power without actually letting her do anything."

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from replying. Umbridge was definitely doing things behind Dumbledore's back. Horrible things. Things Harry was unable to share with his friends.

"Harry, what do you think are the odds that you end up in detention tonight?" Fred asked, grinning at him.

Harry tried not to grimace. Fred had no idea what he was really asking.

"Oh, he's definitely getting detention tonight," George quipped.

"Look at how she's staring at him."

Harry didn't need to look. He could feel her eyes burning into his back.

It had been nearly a month since his last detention with Umbridge. A blessed month. The wounds on his arm, while far from healed, no longer burned constantly. The heavy feeling of dark magic that had invaded his body was gone. All that remained were the compulsions, but even those were growing faint.

Harry guessed it would be at least a week before the compulsions wore down enough for him to do anything effective against her. There was no way she'd let him go that long without detention.

He reminded himself that he'd done this before. Many times. He was no stranger to the pain of these detentions. He could handle it.

History of Magic provided a good distraction from thoughts of Umbridge. Harry spent the double period working on his original spell. He'd made depressingly little progress. After he'd recreated the Magical Structures of the Unforgivables, he'd hit a brick wall. Developing an original spell to interact with all three Unforgivables was an extremely frustrating process. It had devolved quickly into trial-and-error. Mostly error.

By the end of class, Harry was ready to throw his notebook at someone. Preferably Malfoy. The blond ponce had spent the entire period making snide comments about Neville's parents. Harry wanted to punch him.

It was bad enough that the article had revealed something Neville hadn't wanted people to know. Malfoy's taunting crossed the line. Even Hermione looked ready to hit him.

Neville, to Harry's great surprise and admiration, seemed completely unfazed by the whispers and taunts. He held his head high and just kept going.

Harry's anger only grew as he sat through Charms. He was not having a good day. Occlumency seemed to have stirred up all his negative emotions. The grief and despair from last night had been replaced by irritation and rage. He wasn't even sure exactly who he was angry at. Maybe Malfoy. Maybe Voldemort and his stupid Death Eaters. Maybe Umbridge. Maybe himself.

Whatever the case, Harry was furious.

By the time he made it to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry was almost blinded by anger. He recognized, somewhere between the waves of fury, that not all of this anger was his.

His irritation with Malfoy seemed to have opened the doors for Voldemort's anger. It was racing through his blood, fiery rage.

Harry fought it back, trying to push Voldemort's anger to the back of his mind. He'd almost succeeded. Then, Umbridge opened her mouth.

"Good morning, children! Today, I thought we'd do something a bit different. Instead of reading from your textbooks, we'll be talking about the most dangerous threat to our society."

Some people perked up at that. It seemed that Umbridge was actually going to teach them something.

"I'm talking, of course, about Werewolves."

Harry saw red.

"These dangerous creatures are no better than animals, completely unable to control the wolf inside. If you meet one, the only course of action to take is to kill it..."

Harry stood up, chair scraping loudly across the stone floor. Umbridge turned to him, wide face breaking into a smug smile.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter."

"No."

Her smile dropped.

"No?"

Harry could feel the class staring at him. He didn't care.

"I must insist that you sit back down, Mr. Potter. Otherwise, I'll be forced to give you detention."

Later, Harry wouldn't know what possessed him to do what he did next.

"I don't care. Detention is better than sitting here listening to you spout rubbish. Werewolves are perfectly harmless if given proper access to the Wolfsbane Potion. They're more than capable of being productive members of society."

Harry heard gasps.

"Those are lies, Mr. Potter," she spat at him, face growing red.

"Werewolves are dangerous animals."

"They aren't. What is dangerous is ignorant bigots like you who spout false information and try to pass it off as fact!"

The room fell completely silent.

"I think that merits a week of detention, Mr. Potter. Be in my office, tonight, 5 o'clock."

"Might as well make it two weeks. I'm sure you'll find an excuse anyway, Professor."

Harry spat out the last word, making sure she heard it as the insult it was.

"You have disrupted class ENOUGH! Sit back down."

Instead of sitting, Harry picked up his bag and marched to the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, turning back to look at Umbridge.

"I don't know what class you think I'm disrupting, Professor. What happens in this room certainly doesn't qualify."

With that, Harry wrenched open the door and fled.

"I'm an idiot, Hedwig," Harry murmured into his owl's feathers.

"I don't know what I was thinking talking back to her like that."

Harry continued to stroke Hedwig, relishing the silent peace of the Owlery. He'd been here since the debacle in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was already halfway through lunch, but Harry didn't feel like going anywhere.

He had detention in less than 5 hours. He didn't have a choice. The compulsions would make sure he ended up in that classroom. Harry wasn't sure exactly how Umbridge had managed it, but just the command that he had detention seemed to activate the compulsion spells. He would admire her talent if she wasn't such a sadistic bitch.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Harry looked up, unsurprised to see George standing in the doorway. He always knew where to find him.

"You heard what happened?"

George nodded, coming to sit beside Harry.

"Yeah."

"It wasn't my smartest decision."

"I think it was brilliant."

Harry smiled at him, glad someone thought he'd done the right thing.

"Yeah, well...I've got a week of detention now. So...probably not my best idea."

George frowned, seeming to notice Harry's dread.

"Is there something more happening in those detentions than what you've said?"

Harry shook his head.

"No. Just lines. But...um...we've only got a few months till OWLs, and we have SO much homework. When she gives me detentions it's really hard to get it all done."

George didn't look convinced.

"You promise that's all it is?"

Harry felt a knot of despair forming in his chest as he looked right into George's brown eyes.

"I promise."

Most of the afternoon passed uneventfully, a parade of lectures and spells. Harry tried his best not to dwell on what was coming.

Now that his anger had faded, he was fully aware of what a fool he'd been. Standing up to Umbridge may have been the right thing to do, but it certainly wasn't the smart thing to do. He'd left his self-preservation at the door of the classroom, and he was sure to pay for it in just a few hours.

Harry had no doubt that Umbridge would make his punishment worse. He'd disrespected her publicly, and she would be out for his blood. Literally.

Harry hoped that the afternoon would be calmer than the morning. He should have known better than to wish for impossible things.

Malfoy continued to insult Neville's parents throughout potions, throwing insults when Snape was out of earshot.

Neville seemed unfazed, but Harry was growing increasingly angry. He felt the same way he'd felt when he'd blown up Aunt Marge and vanished the glass at the zoo. His magic was swirling just below his skin, begging for release.

Accidental magic was uncommon at his age, but not unprecedented. Strong emotions, especially anger, could still trigger violent magical outbursts. Harry really didn't want that to happen right now.

"It's probably a good thing that your parents don't recognize you, Longbottom. Just think how ashamed they'd be…"

That was it. Harry's anger bubbled over, magic swirling out of his control. Beakers shattered around the classroom, glass turning to powder under the force of his rage. Malfoy's cauldron bent, the metal distorting and melting. Molten metal flowing across his desk.

Malfoy jumped back from the table, eyes wide with terror.

Snape intervened before anyone could get hurt, freezing the metal with a spell. For once, the Professor didn't look angry. He looked almost wary. He turned back toward the class, eyes scanning over their pale faces.

"That was a rather violent episode of accidental magic, but it isn't cause for concern. At your age, it is still a reasonable response to..."

Snape glanced between Malfoy and Harry.

"...certain emotions."

Snape dismissed the class early, citing his need to clean up the classroom.

"Potter. Stay behind."

Of course.

Harry loitered by Snape's desk, waiting for the man to speak.

"You have not been clearing your mind."

Harry glanced up at him, not sure how that was relevant.

"Your outburst earlier, which I heard about from no less than 5 other Professors, and now this. I doubt all this anger is truly your own. Is it?"

Harry thought for a minute, remembering that moment in Defense when he'd felt Voldemort in his mind.

"No...I don't think so, Sir."

Snape sighed, sneering slightly at Harry.

"You must try harder, Potter! This is not a foolish game. This is not an opportunity for you to flaunt your lack of self-control. You must clear your mind."

Harry kept his gaze on the ground, trying to memorize the appearance of the stones. He didn't know HOW to clear his mind. Didn't Snape understand that?

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, Potter!"

Snape was almost shouting at him now. Harry flinched at the raised voice, quickly lifting his eyes to meet Snape's.

"Your little display of accidental magic could have seriously harmed Mr. Malfoy. Whatever petty squabble you have with him, which I'm sure is mostly of your own invention, should not lead to such anger. It is inappropriate."

Harry was suddenly furious again. This time the anger was all his own.

"Inappropriate? Inappropriate?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to formulate his jumbled thoughts into words.

"Did you hear the things he was saying to Neville? That's what is inappropriate!"

Snape did not look impressed.

"I'm sure Mr. Malfoy meant no offense. Longbottom has always been sensitive..."

Harry cut him off, fury boiling in his veins.

"Meant no offense? Have you actually met Draco Malfoy, Sir? Are we talking about the same person? The one who calls Hermione that foul word every chance he gets? The one who thinks it's acceptable to insinuate that Neville's parents, who he's never gotten to know, would be ashamed of him? He meant more than offense. And frankly, someone needs to put him in his place before he runs off to Voldemort just like his father. It doesn't seem that you're willing to do that, Sir. But someone needs to."

Harry was breathing hard, staring right into Snape's eyes. He was done letting Snape operate under the illusion that Malfoy was a saint. Maybe Snape didn't know what he was really like. Maybe he didn't care. Either way, Harry was done.

"Draco Malfoy is a bully. I don't care whether you agree with me or not. He's the one who should be in here right now. Not me. Tell him to stop making fun of people's dead or disabled parents, and then I'm sure my magic will stay under control."

Harry marched out of the classroom before Snape could respond. He knew he would likely pay for those comments, but he just didn't care anymore. Snape was doing a disservice to Malfoy by not intervening. Malfoy needed to learn that there were consequences for his actions. If no one taught him that, Harry was fairly sure he would end up kneeling before Voldemort.

Because Potions had ended early, they had nearly 30 minutes before Transfiguration. Harry spent that time working on his essay on Goblin rebellions for History of Magic, knowing he would have little time to work on it that evening.

Class went fairly well, but McGonagall kept shooting him odd glances. He wasn't at all surprised when she kept him back after class.

"I've had some very interesting conversations with Professors Umbridge and Snape this afternoon."

Harry kept his head bowed, sure he was about to be reprimanded.

"I'm quite proud of you."

He snapped his head up so fast, he almost gave himself whiplash.

"What?"

She chuckled.

"Don't get me wrong, Potter. It was still stupid and reckless. But you saw injustice and spoke up. That's worthy of my pride."

She sighed, glancing at the clock.

"Unfortunately, Umbridge will not back down on these detentions."

Harry nodded. He would have been shocked if she'd agreed to that.

"As for Professor Snape...well, we had a long chat as I was helping him put his classroom back together."

Harry blushed, slightly ashamed to have caused so much destruction.

"There are certain reasons why he believes he cannot discipline Draco Malfoy. Until today, as he tells it, he believed that you enjoyed harassing Draco because he's a Slytherin."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but McGonagall held up a hand to silence him.

"I told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was a fool. That man has a brilliant mind, but he is still blinded by prejudice. I told him my professional opinion of Draco Malfoy: he is a spoiled child who is being ruined by the reluctance of adults in his life to punish him. Professor Snape believes that he cannot show outward disapproval of Draco because of his father's position with You-Know-Who. While I disagree with his logic, I got nowhere in convincing him to step in. Rest assured that I will be handling discipline for Mr. Malfoy. You will not face any punishment for your words to Professor Snape. He needed to hear them, and I believe he understands that."

Harry nodded, hoping she was right. Occlumency would be very awkward if Snape was still furious with him.

"Now, get to your detention! We can't have you be late!"

Harry waved at his professor and raced out the door.

Before he knew it, he was knocking on Umbridge's door, steeling himself for what was about to happen. Umbridge greeted him with her usual sickening smile and gestured for him to sit.

Once he was settled, she placed the quill in front of him. There had been another alteration. While the past quill had been bright red, this one was a dark burgundy color. The color of old blood.

He could already feel the spells taking effect, pushing him to reach for the quill.

"As you can see, I made some alterations to the quill over the holidays. I had hoped not to use this particular variation, but you have given me no choice. Our lessons clearly haven't been working. I see now that I need to take more of an….active role...in remedying your misbehavior."

Harry did not like the sound of that at all, but he was already picking up the quill, the compulsions forcing his hand.

At first, nothing felt different. In fact, it seemed very similar to the original black quill. There was no branding this time. The words were simply being cut into the underside of his forearm.

It was only after he'd been writing for several minutes that he began to feel it: the dark magic. He'd felt the heaviness of the compulsion spells before, but this was something different, fast-acting and terrible. The magic was coursing through his blood, settling in his veins, corrupting his mind. His brain began to feel fuzzy, reality distorting around him.

Whatever she'd done was doing something to his thoughts, affecting his free will even more than the compulsions had. He could feel his perceptions shifting, warping. He could no longer exactly remember why he was here, or why Umbridge terrified him so much.

Wasn't she just trying to help him?

With each stroke of the quill, clarity was fading from his mind. He could no longer recall whether Umbridge was friend or foe. He wasn't sure why he was at odds with her, or if he was at odds with her at all. He could almost feel his memories clouding over, changing and blurring as he wrote.

If he hadn't been so confused, he would have been terrified. If he hadn't been lost in the blanket of dark spells, he would have realized what was happening. He would have realized that she was using incredibly dark magic on him. Magic that was highly obscure, highly experimental, and highly illegal. If his mind hadn't already been nearly gone, he would have understood that she was dosing him with spells that were a strange cocktail of borrowed effects from the Confundus Charm, Memory Charms, and the Imperius Curse.

With each line that appeared on the parchment, Harry's mind became more confused, memories and emotions disconnecting and rearranging themselves in senseless patterns.

By the time she released him at 8 pm, Harry was no longer sure what was real and what wasn't. All he knew for sure was that he was in pain. The burning of his arm was nothing compared to the ache that had spread to his head. His skull was throbbing with terrible agony, sharp spikes of distress radiating through his head and down his body.

He felt distinctly odd, confused and disoriented. It took him nearly five minutes to remember how to get back to Gryffindor Tower. As he walked, his vision kept blurring and twisting, making the journey all the more difficult.

By the time he stumbled into the Common Room, Harry was profoundly exhausted. He was confused, fatigued, and in pain. His friends weren't there. Harry could recall something about them going to the library. Or maybe they went to the lake? Was there a lake nearby? Harry felt like there was.

He made his way up the staircase, pausing at the door to each dormitory. Which year was he again?

At last, he decided that he was probably a Fifth Year. That felt right.

He only found his bed by looking at the initials on each of the trunks. He at least remembered his own name.

He collapsed onto the mattress, not bothering to draw the curtains. He was so tired, and he couldn't remember why. Where had he been before this? Somewhere with a lot of pink? Did Aunt Petunia throw another one of her parties?

Why couldn't he remember?

There is a terrible fear that comes from not being able to recall what has happened to you. It's a sickening feeling.

Harry felt that fear keenly as he lay on his bed, trying to push past the pain and confusion clouding his mind. It was impossible. The pain in his head was growing, leaving him nearly incapable of coherent thought.

He was both terribly hot and horribly cold at once, shaking and sweating in equal measure.

Was he sick? He wasn't supposed to be sick. Freaks didn't get sick. Why wasn't he in his cupboard? This didn't look right. Where was he?

He heard footsteps. Someone was coming. It didn't sound like Dudley.

"Harry?"

That was his name. Someone was calling him.

"Harry, mate, can you hear me?"

Harry could hear him, but he wasn't sure who this person was. Were they friends? Maybe this person could tell him where he was?

"W-where am I?" he asked, voice slurring slightly.

"Are you joking? Please tell me you're joking."

Freezing cold hands touched his face. He flinched back from the touch.

"Merlin, he's burning up. Neville, go get McGonagall! I think something's really wrong with him!"

Harry heard rapid footsteps moving away.

"Harry! Look at me. Please!"

Harry tried, but the person looked fuzzy, out of focus and wrong.

"Need...my glasses…"

"You're wearing them, Harry."

Oh. He hadn't realized.

More footsteps sounded, echoing off the walls.

"Neville said something's wrong with Harry…"

It was a girl's voice, but it didn't sound like Max or Aunt Petunia. How did all these people know him?

A new set of hands touched his face, pressing against his forehead.

"Oh goodness, he's on fire! What happened?"

"I've no idea. We found him like this. He's really confused as well. Doesn't know where he is…"

His head was turned slightly so that he was staring at another blurry shape.

"Harry? Do you know who I am?"

He didn't know. He didn't know, and he didn't know why he didn't know. Should he know?

His lack of response seemed to tell the girl all she needed to know.

"It's okay, Harry. You're just sick."

No. He wasn't sick. He wasn't allowed to be sick.

"M'not sick...promise. Not supposed to get sick..."

His head really hurt. He wished they would all just go away.

"Is that blood on his arm?"

Someone grabbed at his sleeve, and Harry couldn't hold back a cry of pain as their fingers brushed against the wounds he hadn't remembered to bandage.

He heard sharp intakes of breath around him as someone rolled up his sleeve, fingers ghosting above the cuts.

"What THE ACTUAL HELL?"

Harry flinched back from the words, terror filling him.

"M'sorry, m'sorry," he murmured, not quite sure why Uncle Vernon was yelling at him this time.

"George! Don't shout. He's delirious. He doesn't know who you are. You're scaring him."

"But...look at his arm, Hermione! Look at it."

"I see it, but you freaking out isn't going to help him right now. Get a grip!"

These people seemed really upset on his account. They needn't be worried about him. No one was supposed to worry about him.

"M'fine…" he attempted, hoping to reassure them.

"FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN! STOP SAYING YOU'RE FINE!"

The person was shouting again. Harry shrank back, terrified. Why was he being yelled at?

"SHUT UP, GEORGE!"

The girl sounded furious.

"You need to pull yourself together or get the hell out."

The silence that followed was broken by the clicking of heels on the stairs.

"What's going on?"

"Something's really wrong with him, Professor. He doesn't seem to know us, and...his arm."

Someone else touched his face, cool fingers brushing over his forehead before gripping the sides of his arm.

"This is dark magic. We need to move him. Quickly. Without magic."

"I can carry him, Professor," the shouting boy said, sounding much less angry. Now he just sounded sad.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

Harry felt himself being lifted by strong arms, his head settling onto the person's shoulder. He could barely keep his eyes open.

They were moving.

"Professor, I know who did this…"

"Not to fret, Mr. Weasley. When I get my hands on that bitch she'll wish she was in Azkaban. This is very clearly her handiwork. She'll pay for this."

Harry's vision was swimming, stars exploding in front of his eyes. His chest felt tight, each breath agony. He could hear his breathing turn raspy, oxygen evading him.

He could still hear voices above him, but he was no longer aware of their words. All he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears. All he could feel was his heart beating erratically against his ribs as he struggled to draw breath. It was getting harder and harder to take in air, lungs spasming as he fought to inhale.

His vision was turning gray at the edges, light fading.

Was this what dying felt like?.

He was jostled and spun, heat and green light surrounding him. Then, the gray completely overwhelmed his vision, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the cliffhanger *hides behind laptop*
> 
> I just wanted to make a quick comment about the interaction between Snape, Harry, and Malfoy in this chapter. I intend to write redemption arcs for both Draco and Snape, but I don't want to gloss over their problematic traits. Draco Malfoy was often terrible in the books, and he never seemed to get properly told off for it. I've seen people speculate that Snape didn't know about Draco's actions or just thought that Harry was acting just like his father and harassing Draco. I don't know if I agree with that, but for this story, that's the interpretation I'm going with. I have a much easier time redeeming Snape if I write him as blinded by old prejudice rather than actively ignoring Draco's behavior (especially when Draco often uses the same slur that ended his friendship with Lily). Anyway, sorry for that digression! I just wanted to make it clear that I have plans to work in arcs for these two characters and that I don't intend to bash them. 
> 
> Next Chapter coming SATURDAY!!
> 
> Thank you for all the Kudos and sweet comments! Y'all are so nice :)


	27. A Coda for A Toad

Harry awoke to whiteness. White walls and white ceiling.

As he became more aware, he realized that he was in a bed. A hospital bed by the look of things. He couldn't see very well without his glasses, but he could make out a figure in the chair beside his bed. He couldn't quite tell who it was.

"Hello?"

The figure jerked and stood up, moving toward him.

"Harry! You're awake."

He recognized the voice immediately.

"Remus? What's going on?"

Harry couldn't remember anything since….well, he couldn't remember that either. Everything was fuzzy.

His glasses were pressed into his hand. He slid them on, bringing Remus into focus. He looked terrible, rumpled and exhausted.

Remus sat back down and slid his chair closer to Harry's bed.

"What do you remember?"

He had been...doing something. And he'd...gotten sick?

"I'm not sure…"

He was getting worried now. What had happened?

"You had detention with Umbridge…"

That was all it took for his memories to come flooding back: the quill, the dark magic, his mind fracturing.

"Do you remember that?"

Harry nodded, incapable of speaking. The terror of that final detention was still terribly fresh.

"She'd imbued that quill with an enormous amount of dark magic. It was too much for your body to handle. Your magic reacted badly. From what I understand, it's analogous to how your immune system tries to protect you by raising your body temperature. Your Healer told me that it's a pretty common reaction when someone is exposed to a very high concentration of dark magic. Your magic rejected the invasion of dark spells and fought them off. The Healers have been keeping you asleep so that your magic could focus solely on cleansing your system of the spells. They scanned you this morning and all traces of the spells are gone."

That must be why he couldn't feel the compulsions anymore. 

"How long was I asleep?"

Remus ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it even more.

"A little over a week. Nearly eight days."

Eight days? He'd been unconscious for eight days? How had he gotten himself into this mess?

Something was nagging at the back of his mind. Something Remus had said.

"Wait, how do you know about the quill?"

Remus' face grew hard, angry.

"Umbridge confessed to everything under Veritaserum."

"What...how?"

"Professor McGonagall knew immediately that Umbridge was the one behind all of this. Once she made sure you were in good hands, she tracked her down and...uh...kept her in one place until the Aurors arrived."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Remus.

"What did she do?"

Remus smirked.

"She turned her into a toad and trapped her in her own teapot."

Harry gaped.

"She did what?"

Remus' smile disappeared.

"She's lucky that's all that was done to her. She deserved far worse. Do you know what would have happened if the spells she'd used had succeeded?"

"No," Harry whispered, afraid to hear the answer.

"At best, you would have been a puppet. At worst, you would have fallen into a permanent vegetative state. Not unlike the Longbottoms."

Harry's heart was caught in his throat. Why had he let things get so bad with Umbridge? Why hadn't he taken a way out? Why hadn't he told someone while he could? If he had died because of this, he would have doomed the Wizarding World.

"I'm...such an idiot. I messed up, Remus. I should have told someone what was happening...I'm sorry. I'm so…"

"Hey. Stop that. None of this is your fault, okay? None of it."

Harry didn't believe him. He'd screwed up. Badly. He'd almost given up the game before he'd even started. He'd almost handed Voldemort victory. He was such a damned fool.

Harry was dragged from his thoughts by the arrival of a Healer. She was a kind woman, all smiles and soft touches. She unwrapped his arm and applied a paste of some kind. It was wonderfully cooling, instantly soothing the pain. She explained that he needed to have it applied twice a day for a month in order for the wounds to heal.

Then, a sympathetic look crossing her face, she told him that the scars would never fade. He would bear the mark of his failure for the rest of his life.

She gave him one final check before declaring him free to go. Harry got dressed in the clothes Remus had brought for him, barely aware of what he was doing.

Remus guided him from the room, periodically glancing over his shoulder as they walked down the halls.

"Are we going back to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, not sure if he wanted to return just yet.

"Not today. You'll be staying with me for the next few days. You'll be going back on Monday."

Harry opened his mouth to ask whether they were going to Headquarters, but Remus shook his head.

"We can't talk here, Harry. Wait until we're safe."

Harry followed Remus out of Saint Mungo's and into a poorly-lit alleyway.

"We're going to apparate. Grab my arm."

Harry took hold of Remus' forearm, and they spun away in a rush of sound and color. When the world righted itself, Harry found himself in the same wooded area where he'd been nearly six months ago. They were clearly going to Grimmauld Place.

They made the walk quickly, silently. Harry was surprised by how good he felt. He hadn't realized just how much pain he'd been in as a result of all the compulsion spells. Now that they were gone, he could finally breathe again.

As they approached the house, Harry found himself growing nervous. As much as he wanted to see Sirius, he was worried that his godfather would be angry with him for being such an idiot. What if he didn't want Harry around anymore?

He followed Remus into the house and toward the dining room, hoping that his fears were unfounded.

The scene that greeted him when he entered the room was not at all what he'd been expecting. Sirius was not alone. He was sitting at the table with Mrs. Weasley. She seemed to be teaching him how to knit. Well, trying to. It didn't appear to be going very well. Sirius was holding a tangled mess of yarn, glaring at it like it had betrayed him.

He looked up when they entered, eyes slipping right past Remus to land on Harry. He stood quickly, knocking his chair over in his haste. On instinct, Harry tensed, not knowing what to expect.

Sirius stopped right in front of him, scanning him with his eyes. Then, he pulled Harry into a tight hug. It wasn't like the hugs they'd shared before. It felt like Sirius was trying to reassure himself that Harry was real.

"I'm so glad that you're okay, Harry."

Harry didn't speak. He just let himself melt into Sirius' arms, glad that his godfather still wanted him around after everything he'd done.

Sirius finally pulled back, ruffling Harry's hair as he stepped away.

"It's a good thing you two came back. I've been driving Molly up the wall. She's been a saint."

Mrs. Weasley smiled brightly at Harry as she gathered up her knitting.

"It was no trouble, Sirius. You shouldn't have been alone here while Remus was at the hospital."

Now Harry understood why Mrs. Weasley was here. She'd been keeping Sirius company while Remus was with him. He'd caused such a mess.

"I must be going. Goodness knows what Arthur has been doing while I've been gone."

She bustled over to Harry, encasing him in a quick hug before exiting the room.

As he watched her leave, Harry felt a sudden wave of panic. Sirius wouldn't have been the only one worried.

"Mrs. Weasley!" He called, racing after her.

She stopped at the door, turning back toward him.

"Do Ron and the others...Do they…?"

She gave him a kind smile, adjusting the bag of knitting on her hip.

"I've been keeping them updated through the mirror, Dear. They know you're alright."

Harry gave a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

"Anytime, Harry."

He watched her leave, hoping that his friends would forgive him for everything he'd put them through. His memories were fuzzy, but he remembered enough to know that they'd been with him when he'd begun to feel the effects of the spells. They'd probably been scared out of their minds. That was his fault.

He trudged back to the dining room, just wanting to sit for a minute. He was about to slide into a chair when something caught his eye. Lying on the table was a copy of the Daily Prophet. Splashed across the cover was a picture of Umbridge. The headline made his breath quicken: **Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, Delores Umbridge, imprisoned for torturing a Hogwarts Student.**

He reached for the newspaper, but Sirius' hand stopped him, gripping his wrist gently.

"You don't need to read that."

"Do they...know it was me?" Harry choked, hoping the answer was no.

Sirius sighed, releasing Harry's arm.

"They don't name you directly, but it's fairly obvious who they're talking about."

Harry nodded, hardly surprised. The Daily Prophet wasn't known for respecting privacy.

"How much do they know?"

"Pretty much everything, I'm afraid. It seems that someone from the Auror's office leaked the information from her interrogation."

Harry let his head drop into his hands, gripping tightly. How could he go back to Hogwarts when everyone knew what a weak, pathetic…

Sirius grabbed his hands again, pulling them away from his hair. He lifted Harry's chin so they were face-to-face.

"No one thinks badly of you, Harry. No one. The only people this reflects badly on are Umbridge and Fudge. Not you. Never you."

Harry pulled away from his godfather, not wanting to be touched.

"You don't understand, Sirius. I screwed up. She only started using the compulsion spells in November. I could have said something! I could have stopped her after that first detention. But I didn't! I just let her do it! I was so...stupid!"

"You weren't, Harry. She was threatening you! She had a lot of power over you, and you did what you felt was right. This isn't your fault."

Wasn't it though? He was always being hurt by adults who were supposed to protect him. Didn't that say something about him? Wasn't he the real problem?

"Can I go to my room for a bit? I'm tired."

Sirius gave him a worried look, but Harry didn't wait for his response. He pushed his chair back and practically flew up the stairs.

He made it into his bedroom and slumped against the wall. Everything felt wrong. He'd been dealing with Umbridge for months, but he'd never really understood the gravity of the situation. He'd almost been ruined by Umbridge. His mind could have been destroyed, and he'd just LET HER DO IT! He'd kept his head down like a good little boy, and took the torture. He'd carved the words into his own arm for months of his own volition. He'd lied to his friends and protected her. Protected Umbridge. Just like he'd protected the Dursleys. Just like the fool he was.

His eyes fell on the wardrobe and he crawled toward it, pulling himself inside almost without conscious thought. This was where he belonged.

The darkness was soothing. He leaned his head against the back of the wardrobe, drawing his knees into his chest. It was quiet here. His thoughts weren't quite so loud.

Really, he'd been a fool to think that he'd ever make it out of here. He always ended up back in this place. He could play the hero all he wanted, but he was still just a dumb little boy who didn't know how to ask for help. He was still the same fool who walked back into the cupboard willingly because it was all he knew.

Maybe Umbridge had been right about him. He wasn't lying about Voldemort, but he was a liar. He'd lied to Sirius, Remus, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Fred...George. Merlin, he'd lied to George so many times. Promised him that he'd ask for help if he needed it. Promised that nothing bad was happening in the detentions. His friends probably hated him. They probably should.

Worst of all, though, he'd lied to himself. He'd told himself that he was taking Umbridge's punishments because he was protecting his friends and Mr. Weasley. The truth was…

The truth was that he'd let her hurt him because that was what he always did. He let himself be hurt over and over again because he was…

Because he was a broken person. A pathetic, worthless orphan. The kind of person who let themselves be stomped on by the world because they knew they deserved it. Things had been better since he'd started Hogwarts, sure. He'd made friends, learned magic, done great things. But at the end of the year, he always went back to the Dursleys with his head down. Back where he belonged: A forgotten freak, unwanted and unloved.

Umbridge had seen that part of him. She'd seen it right away. She'd known that he wouldn't tell. Maybe she really had been helping him. She'd reminded him that he wasn't strong. That he wasn't good….

"Harry?"

He'd been so lost in his spiraling thoughts, he hadn't heard Sirius come in. The door of the wardrobe swung open, Sirius silhouetted in the light.

"What are you doing in here?"

Harry didn't even know how to begin answering that question.

"Come on."

Harry took Sirius' offered hand and let himself be pulled from the wardrobe. Sirius practically dragged him over to his bed, perching on the edge and gesturing for Harry to join him. Harry sat down gingerly, avoiding his godfather's gaze.

"What's going on in that ridiculous head of yours?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Harry. You're talking to the king of dark thoughts! You can tell me anything!"

Harry could tell that Sirius was trying to lighten the mood, trying to make Harry feel safe. He appreciated it even though it wasn't working.

"I'm serious, Harry. I want to help you, but I have to understand what's going on inside your head. Can you try to tell me?"

Could he?

"I don't really know where to start…"

"That's okay. Why don't we start with the Hippogryph in the room? Can you tell me why you were hiding in your wardrobe?"

Harry said nothing.

"Please, Harry. I just want to understand. I won't judge. That's a promise."

Sirius sounded so desperate. So sincere. Maybe he could tell him? He hadn't told a soul about the cupboard in years, realizing quickly that people never believed him. But Sirius had never doubted him before.

"It's just...It's kind of a habit."

"Why is hiding in wardrobes a habit for you?"

Sirius sounded curious and concerned, not a hint of judgement in his tone.

"Um...I...well...I used to….Ikindausedtoliveinacupboard."

"What? Say that again. Just so I'm sure I understood you."

Harry shook his head. He couldn't say it again.

"Okay. Okay. Just tell me if I have it right. Did you say that you used to LIVE in a cupboard?"

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes firmly on the crimson of his duvet. He couldn't look at Sirius. Couldn't handle seeing the disgust that was sure to be in his eyes.

"At the Dursleys?"

Harry nodded again.

"For how long?"

Still unable to speak, Harry held up both hands, fingers splayed out.

"10...10 years?"

Another nod.

"Merlin...Harry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"It really wasn't that big a deal, Sirius. They didn't want me. But they took me in anyway. I didn't deserve more than what they gave me…"

Sirius stayed quiet for a moment, but Harry could hear him breathing heavily.

"That's...That's not true at all, Harry. They failed you. You deserved far more than that. You deserve the world."

Sirius grabbed for his hands, and Harry let him, fingers lax in Sirius' grip.

"Listen to me, Harry. What your relatives did, what Umbridge did, that's child abuse. It's not your fault. They're the monsters. Not you."

"But...what if...what if I deserved it?"

It came out as a whisper. His greatest fear, his biggest uncertainty, thrown at Sirius' feet.

"You didn't"

"But…"

"You didn't."

Harry finally looked into Sirius' eyes, seeing nothing but love there.

"I know that they've made you feel that way. Hell, I've felt that way myself. But, Harry, it's an illusion. It's a lie they've told you too many times. It's the farthest thing from the truth. You NEVER deserved that kind of treatment. NEVER."

Sirius held his hands tighter, and Harry finally squeezed back.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see someone incredibly selfless, unfailingly kind, and stupidly brave. You are an amazing person, Harry. The people who've hurt you couldn't change that if they tried."

"I'm...I just...I have trouble believing that."

Sirius gave him a weak smile, eyes crinkling at the edges.

"I know. It took me a long time to understand it myself. I always thought I was the problem. I thought that when people hurt me it was because I was the broken one. But I know that isn't true. Eventually, you'll know it too. I'll help you figure it out. Okay?"

"Okay."

Sirius pulled him to his feet, dragging him toward the door.

"Now. Let's go eat lunch. Moony made….something. I don't really know. I wasn't paying attention."

Harry laughed, his soul feeling lighter.

Just outside his bedroom door, Sirius turned back to him.

"And, Harry. I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure you never have to go back to the Dursleys."

"Sirius...it's really not that bad."

Sirius held up a hand, gray eyes clouding with anger.

"Harry, they kept you in a CUPBOARD. That, by itself, is enough reason to make sure you never go back there. And I'm almost sure that's not all they did."

Harry just stared at him, not sure how to respond.

"You don't have to tell me everything right now. I hope you will someday, but it's okay if you need time."

Sirius slung an arm around him as they made their way downstairs.

"I'll figure something out, Harry. You won't ever have to go back there."

Sirius sounded determined, but Harry knew better. He always ended up back at the Dursleys. There was no reason to think this time would be any different. It didn't really matter. He could survive it. He always did.

The rest of the day flew by, a whirl of laughter and ridiculous stories from the Marauders' school days. Harry could tell that Sirius and Remus were doing their best to keep things light. He appreciated it. He felt much better than he had earlier, but he was still struggling a bit.

He didn't like the idea that everyone knew what he'd gone through. He hated the thought that they might look at him with pity or...disgust. He couldn't handle that. Most of all, though, he was scared of what his friends would think of him. Would they hate him? Would they finally understand what a pathetic loser he really was?

The talk he'd had with Sirius had helped a bit, but Harry found himself caught in a never-ending cycle of thoughts. His primary emotions were guilt and shame, swirling around in his head despite his best efforts. He was a mess.

After dinner on Friday evening, one day after his release from Saint Mungo's, Sirius and Remus cornered him, asking him to stay at the table so they could talk. Harry felt his heart speed up.

"Harry, we can tell that you're struggling."

"I'm really fine…"

"Nope," Sirius interjected.

"Truth time, buddy. You're not okay."

Remus put his hand on Sirius' arm, clearly trying to calm him down a bit.

"You've been tortured, Harry. For months. That doesn't come without after-effects."

"My arm is healing…"

"I don't mean physical effects."

Oh.

"Look. I'm really okay. It wasn't that bad,"

"Wasn't that bad?"

Sirius looked angry now, face turning red.

"Sirius…"

"No. I'm sorry. This is ridiculous. She TORTURED you. Do you understand that? She was sentenced to 20 years in Azkaban because of what she did."

20 years?

"That seems excessive, though. It isn't as big of a deal as everyone is making it out to be."

Sirius slammed his hand on the table, causing Harry to flinch violently. Sirius, realizing what he'd done, paled.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm not angry with you. I'm just..I'm just worried."

Harry nodded, trying to get his breathing under control. He knew Sirius would never hurt him.

"We were thinking…" Remus said, glancing worriedly at Sirius.

"That you might want to talk to someone else. Someone other than us."

"Who?"

"Well, we know you've been talking to Minnie at school," Sirius cut in.

Harry couldn't help but grin at the nickname.

"She's been pestering us to let her come see you since you got here. We told her we'd ask you. Would you like to see her?"

Harry nodded. He really, really would.

"I'll give her a call. I bet she'll be here in seconds."

Remus was very nearly right. Not ten minutes after he'd ended the floo call, there was a knock on the door. Sirius and Remus let Professor McGonagall in and ushered her into the sitting room. Remus made them some tea, and before Harry knew it, he was alone with Professor McGonagall.

His Professor sipped her tea, regarding him critically over the rim of her cup.

"You're looking much better than the last time I saw you."

Harry blushed.

"I'm really sorry about that, Professor…"

"Don't apologize. It was not your fault. Delores Umbridge is a sadist and a manipulative monster. You were the victim here, Harry. And I should have done more to help you."

"No. Professor, it wasn't your fault. I didn't want anyone to know."

"Maybe so, but I should not have allowed you to spend so much time alone with her. That was my mistake."

They settled into a comfortable silence, drinking their tea and enjoying the crackling of the fire.

At last, Professor McGonagall spoke.

"I have notes for you. Ms. Granger insisted that I bring them. She's been giving me more every day."

She reached into her robes and pulled out a tightly-bound square of folded parchments. Harry took it reverently, finding joy in the curves of Hermione's familiar handwriting.

"Your friends have been very worried about you, Harry. In fact, it seems the whole school misses you. Especially those wearing those rather beautiful rings."

Harry kept his gaze on the parchment, trying not to give anything away.

"Starting a secret organization is no less than I'd expect from the son of James Potter."

He whipped his head up, gaping at her.

"You know?"

She laughed.

"I don't know specifically what you're doing, but I'm no fool. I put up with your father and godfather for 7 years. I know how to spot secrecy. Teenagers are rather bad at being covert."

"It's a defense organization," Harry blurted out.

"I started it to teach people how to defend themselves since Umbridge wasn't teaching us...well, anything."

Professor McGonagall gave him a proud smile.

"I suspected as much. I'm sure our new Defense Professor will encourage you to continue."

"Who is it?"

"Nymphadora Tonks. She was eager to take the position. She's been stuck partnering with a Fudge loyalist and has been begging Dumbledore for a mission for months. This isn't quite a mission, but she jumped at the opportunity. She's been a hit so far. It seems like students respond well to teachers that actually attempt to teach. Imagine that!"

Harry laughed. He loved Tonks. He was sure she'd be a great teacher. As long as they weren't doing anything that required hand-eye coordination.

"You've done a lot of good this year, Harry. You've shown an incredible amount of strength and resolve. I can't imagine how you put up with those detentions for so long, but I understand why you did. You'll be glad to know that Fudge has come under even greater fire since the news of Umbridge broke. I doubt he'll be in office for much longer."

Maybe something good had come out of all of this.

"That being said, I'm giving you detention for two weeks."

"What? Why?"

"For being a self-sacrificing, idiotic Gryffindor."

"Oh."

Harry guessed that made sense.

"I'll be supervising as you catch up on your missed work. You can have days off for Occlumency, but I expect you in my office right after dinner every day that you don't meet with Professor Snape. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor."

"I'm also awarding you 300 points."

Harry stared at her.

"Why? Professor...I really don't deserve that."

"You do. You probably deserve more than that for teaching a whole host of students to defend themselves, sacrificing yourself to protect your friends, and standing firm in the face of adversity. I've never been prouder of a student in my entire career."

Harry felt his face burning. He was sure it resembled a ripe tomato.

"Now, please stop moping about. You've done nothing wrong. Self-hatred doesn't look good on you."

She stood to leave, pausing for a moment, reaching back into her robes.

"I have a letter for you. George Weasley was rather adamant that I bring it to you." 

She handed it to him and swept from the room. It was a simple envelope, smudged ink spelling out his name.

He opened it with shaking fingers. Would this be the rejection he'd been dreading?

_Harry,_

_I'm mad at you. I'm SOOOO mad at you. I can't even describe how worried I was when I saw you the other night. You almost STOPPED BREATHING! Do you have any idea how terrifying that was? I thought I was going to lose you. So, I'm really angry._

_I'm really angry, and I really miss you._

_I understand what made you feel that you couldn't tell me the truth. I understand that you were trying to protect Dad. I understand that._

_I want you to know that I'll be waiting for you when you come back. I'll listen to whatever you want to tell me, and I'll try not to act like an idiot no matter how much I want to yell at you. If I do end up yelling, please know that it's not because I hate you. It's rather the opposite._

_I hate seeing you hurt, Harry. It's the worst thing. I hope that when you come back you'll be able to tell me what's been going on. I know you're hiding things. You always have been. I won't make you tell me, but I want to be here for you. Let me._

_Anyway, enough of the sappy stuff. Hogwarts has been boring without you. I've been keeping Hedwig company, but she's really angry at you. You may need to visit the kitchens and bring her a large offering of bacon._

_The whole Founders' League misses you, and we can't wait for you to get back. Get better soon before I go insane._

_I miss you,_

_George_

_P.S. I know you're probably beating yourself up about something. Stop it! That's an order._

Harry read the letter five times, trying to memorize the words. George was angry at him, but he wasn't going to abandon him. He was going to stay.

Harry let a huge smile break onto his face. Umbridge was gone, Tonks was teaching DADA, and George didn't hate him. Maybe things would be okay.

Sirius continued to talk to him often, sharing details of his childhood. Something about the way he spoke about it, freely and unabashedly, gave Harry immense comfort. He would someday be free of the Dursleys too. He would someday be able to talk about them without feeling ashamed. Sirius had shown him that.

Maybe when he went back to school he could try confiding in his friends. Sirius had done that, and he said it had been freeing. Harry wanted to be free too.

He was looking forward to going back to Hogwarts, but one thing was nagging at the back of his mind: Occlumency. That first lesson had been terrible, and he was no closer to figuring out how to clear his mind.

He approached Remus with his problem on Sunday morning, explaining what had gone wrong.

"You know, I think you might be able to use your Spell Sensing abilities to help you."

"What do you mean?"

Remus closed the book he'd been reading with a snap.

"Well, I did a bit of reading about it. Apparently, Spell Sensing has applications in most branches of magic. You might be able to feel the Legilmens' magic and force them out that way."

Harry contemplated that for a moment. It was probably worth a try.

"Can we test it?" Harry asked, wary of trying something like that with Snape.

"Sure. I'm not an expert Legilimens, but I know the basics. I won't look for any memories, I'll just linger at the edges of your mind, alright?"

Harry nodded, bracing himself.

Remus pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Harry reached out his magic, letting the music of his surroundings envelop him. He could hear Remus' magic, mellow and deep, interwoven patterns of melancholic and hopeful strains. He could hear his own magic, an incredible burst of emotion, sadness and love cascading through his mind.

"Legilimens."

He could feel it as it happened, Remus' magic latching onto his, melodies morphing, harmony and dissonance forming where they blended together. He focused on his own melody, trying to coax it away from Remus, straining to maintain the sound of it, fighting to keep it intact. To his utter shock, it worked.

He was able to separate himself from Remus, ending the spell.

"Excellent!" Remus exclaimed, beaming at Harry.

"I'm no match for Severus, but that was a really good start. Be sure to try that during your next lesson. I think he may even be impressed."

"I highly doubt that."

Remus chuckled.

The success of his new method raised Harry's spirits. He spent the afternoon working through Hermione's notes, trying to catch up. He knew his Professors wouldn't expect his work to be done right away, but he didn't want to fall too far behind. OWLs were just around the corner.

He fell asleep easily that night, heart filled with hope and George's letter clutched tightly in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umbridge is finally gone!!! Harry had some rough times this chapter, but he's gonna be just fine :) I think the worst part of Umbridge's method is that it really makes the person feel like the pain is their own fault. I think Harry, as someone who has already faced abuse, would really struggle to place the blame in the proper place. 
> 
> I hope the Occlumency method makes sense. It's kinda weird, but I wanted to play around with Occlumency a little since "clear your mind" is literally the least helpful sentence on the planet. 
> 
> Next chapter is going to include another Occlumency lesson and the Valentine's day Hogsmeade Weekend. See you all on Wednesday!!
> 
> Thank you all for the kind comments and Kudos. I can't express how much I appreciate it!!


	28. The Scars We Hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter discusses suicide. It's not graphic and nothing happens, but please protect yourselves.

Returning to Hogwarts felt like coming home.

His friends welcomed him back with open arms. Literally. In the week since he'd come back to school, he'd been hugged more times than in the rest of his life combined. Hermione and Ron refused to leave his side most days, seemingly worried that he would end up back in Saint Mungo's if they let him out of their sight.

Out of all his friends, Neville had been the most affected by the news of what Umbridge had done. Neville had understood, on a visceral level, that Harry could have ended up just like his parents, an empty shell, a body without a mind. The boy had become fiercely protective of Harry: sitting next to him in every class, keeping tabs on him in the dormitory. Harry appreciated his concern, understanding why Neville felt the need to keep him safe.

Harry did his best to keep his arm hidden from everyone. His friends had already seen the wound, but they'd only seen the bloody mess, not the sharp lines of the words beneath. The Daily Prophet hadn't printed that part of the story, and Harry didn't want anyone to know what he'd been forced to write.

His attempt at secrecy didn't last.

One Sunday morning in early February, barely a week after his release from Saint Mungo's, Neville walked into the dormitory as Harry was struggling to rebandage his arm.

"You need help with that?" Neville asked, crossing the room quickly.

"No! No. It's fine."

Too late.

Neville was standing right in front of him, staring at the letters carved into his pale skin. The words stood out starkly against the whiteness of his arm, a mark of what had been done to him, a reminder.

Neville said nothing, reaching out and wrapping the bandage tightly around Harry's arm.

"I'm sorry," Neville whispered, holding Harry's forearm gently, almost reverently.

"It's not your fault…"

Neville let go of his arm, looking pained.

"Does it still hurt?"

Harry was tempted to lie. It was a habit, years of experience teaching him to keep silent about pain. But he thought better of it. He wanted to be more open with his friends. He needed to be more open with them.

"A bit, yeah."

Neville's face twisted with worry.

"I'm so sorry."

"Neville, it's fine."

His friend looked right into his eyes, determination gleaming from them.

"It's not fine. I'm so angry that this happened, Harry. That bitch had no right to do this to you. NONE!"

Harry was taken aback by Neville's fierceness. He'd never seen this side of his friend before. He was almost intimidating in his resolve.

"I can make you a tea to help with the pain. It's a cocktail of Aloe, Lavender, and Dittany that I've been working on with Professor Sprout. It should ease the discomfort."

Harry protested, assuring Neville that it was fine, but the other boy wouldn't take no for an answer. He returned that evening with a sachet full of loose herbs. To Harry's surprise, and relief, the tea was delicious, aromatic and sweet. It helped almost immediately, soothing the burning of his arm.

As Harry sat in the Room of Requirement that evening, working on his Transfiguration essay, Hermione curled up next to him, he struggled with his new-found desire to be more open with his friends. Part of him truly wanted to turn over a new leaf, sharing freely with those he loved. The other part was terrified. Terrified because of the one thing he desperately wanted to tell them: the prophecy.

The weight of the prophecy had not lessened. It was crushing him slowly, a constant thrum of panic at the back of his mind. He needed to tell someone, someone who was with him enough to offer comfort.

He knew that this was the perfect time to tell them. His friends had stayed with him in the Room of Requirement after that day's Founders' League meetings, taking advantage of the profound quiet the room could offer. He let his eyes scan over Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, and Neville, watching their peaceful looks of concentration.

Should he burden them with this information? What right did he have to put unnecessary stress in their lives?

As doubts threatened to overwhelm him, Harry imagined what Sirius would say. His godfather would remind him that he wasn't a burden, that his friends would want to know this. They would want to help him.

Steeling himself, Harry spoke.

"I have something I need to tell you."

The words flowed out of him, a torrent of barely suppressed panic. He told them about the prophecy and Voldemort's obsession with learning it. He told them that the war would somehow come down to the two of them, Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, facing one another in a battle to the death.

For a long moment after he finished, no one spoke.

"Damn," Ron said, looking confused and upset.

"Damn."

Harry couldn't agree more.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him, burying her head in his shoulder.

"It'll be alright, Harry," She whispered into his sweater.

"We'll help you defeat him. We'll do it together, alright?"

"Yeah," Neville chimed in.

"If he wants to take you out, he's going to have to go through us first."

"No!" Harry cried, jerking away from Hermione.

"No. That's not going to happen. Absolutely not. I don't want any of you anywhere near him. Ever."

Fred sighed heavily, face hardening.

"You can't stop us, Harry. This is our fight too. We'd die for this cause. We'd die for you. That's just a fact."

_We'd die for you_

_We'd die for you_

"No."

Too many people had already died for him. Too many. His heart started to pound. What had he done? Why had he told them? What was wrong with him? He was going to get them killed.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Hermione sounded worried, arms reaching out for him. He stood up, knocking her away in his haste.

"Yeah," he forced out, voice high and strained.

"I'm good. Just need to go visit Hedwig. She's mad at me."

He gathered up his things quickly and left the room, racing down the corridors. He was so lost in his head, he didn't notice the person trailing behind him.

He did not go to the Owlery. Instead, he made his way to Myrtle's bathroom, stopping briefly at Gryffindor Tower to grab his Firebolt.

He opened the Chamber of Secrets, Parseltongue gliding from his lips, and slid down the tunnel into darkness. He was moving down the corridor when the crunch of bones sounded behind him.

He spun around, wand aimed squarely at the intruder. It was George, broom slung casually over his shoulder.

"What the hell? Did you follow me?"

George huffed incredulously, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Of course. What did you expect? You can't just drop a bomb like that on us then leave! We need to talk about this!"

"Talk about what?"

"You know exactly what."

Harry didn't dare acknowledge that last statement. He didn't want to talk about anything. Instead, he turned and walked down the tunnel, opening the main Chamber easily. He could hear George following closely behind him, breath echoing off the stone.

He made his way over to his Rune Circle, settling down on the cold stone of the Chamber floor. George sank down next to him, looking warily at the two objects encased in the Runes.

"What is this?"

Harry didn't answer.

"Please. Just...tell me."

"They're just...these artifacts I found. Dark artifacts. I don't know what they are, but they were affecting me really badly until I figured out how to contain them."

"Who else knows?"

Harry bit his lip, staring at the floor.

"So, no one?"

George sighed, tracing a finger over the Rune for "trap."

"You need to tell Sirius and Remus about these objects. If they were affecting you enough for you to admit it was bad, then someone else needs to know."

"I've already worried them enough…"

"Either you tell them, or I will. There's no other option."

Harry glared at George. The other boy stared right back at him, unfazed, eyes blazing.

"Don't look at me like that! I'm trying to help you!"

"I didn't ask you to."

"No, you didn't. But you didn't have to. I care about you, so I'm going to help you whether you ask for it or not, whether you want it or not!"

George was angry at him. Again.

"Sorry...you're right."

"Don't be sorry."

They sat in silence for a bit, George examining the Rune Circle.

"Is this...what I think it is? Please don't tell me that you used a Rune Circle that could have killed you without telling anyone!"

Harry didn't have a response. That's exactly what he had done.

"Do you want to die?"

It was a whisper, echoing off the walls of the empty Chamber.

"No...O-of course not."

"Then why do you have such disregard for your own life? Do you not understand what your death would mean?"

Harry flinched.

"I know. It would mean that Voldemort wins…"

"NO! Merlin, I don't care about Voldemort!"

Harry stared at George with wide eyes. He had never heard him use Voldemort's name before.

"This isn't about a stupid prophecy! It's about what your death would mean to the people who care about you! How can you not understand that?"

Harry shook his head. George needed to hear this.

"You don't understand! My life isn't important! It's…"

"It is important! And not because of your 'destiny' or whatever."

"YOU DON'T GET IT!"

Harry shouted, pushing himself to his feet. George stood as well, staring at Harry in shock.

"This is all I'm meant to do! My whole life has been about Voldemort. All of it. Since before I was even born. Everything else doesn't matter. It can't matter! Because people will die if I don't do everything possible to stop him. They'll DIE, George!"

George took a step closer to him, face growing red.

"But it's alright if you die? It's okay for you to be murdered?"

"Yes! If I can save other people, other families, then…"

"What about your family?"

Harry stopped.

"I don't have a family."

"That's bullshit. Sirius and Remus are your family. We're your family. Can't you understand what your death would do to us? Don't you care about that?"

"You'd get over it…"

"NO! WE WOULDN'T!"

Harry jerked backward at the raised voice, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"You say that now, but you...you don't understand. I'm not...it's not...I'm not the important one! You all have other people. Better people. You would move on. Probably sooner than you think you would."

"You're such an idiot sometimes."

Harry was getting angry now. He wasn't an idiot. He just knew what was really important.

"I'm not! You think you can tell me what my life is worth? That it's worth more than the Wizarding World? Because IT'S NOT! I MEAN NOTHING!"

"You...do you really not understand how people would feel if they lost you?"

"No. I understand better than you do. You think I'm some special person, but you haven't known me that long. There are so many things you don't know about me. And I bet you wouldn't like me after you found them out. If I died, things might even be better for you."

George took another step toward him, but Harry stepped away, putting more distance between the two of them.

"I don't even...that's just...you're so wrong."

"I get it! I'm screwed up. 'Poor Harry doesn't know how to accept love.'"

Harry said it mockingly, hating how he sounded. What was he doing? Why was he pushing George away?

"Well, that's not it. I know what I'm worth, George. I'm a pawn in this war. Nothing more. You don't realize that because you're too...nice. But it's the truth. The sooner you figure that out, the better it'll be for you."

George just stared at him. Harry could swear he saw tears glistening in his eyes.

"You don't really believe that…"

"I do."

He did. He knew he shouldn't. But he did.

"I don't know what you want from me, George. I'm...this is what I am, okay? I'm just a means to an end. If you can't accept that, then...maybe you shouldn't be around me. I'm probably going to die. I've accepted that, but you don't seem to be able to. It'll hurt less if you just...keep your distance."

George was so good. He cared so much. The least Harry could do was make sure that George wasn't around to watch him die. Wasn't there to watch as Harry walked toward that death willingly.

"What are you saying?"

Harry ignored the tears on George's face. God, he was a monster.

"You know exactly what I'm saying."

Harry was screaming at himself to stop talking. To take it all back. To hug George and apologize. But he couldn't.

If George would be broken by his death, then he had to make sure he wasn't around to see it.

"You should probably go," Harry said, struggling to keep his voice even.

"You can leave the same way you came."

"Harry...please don't do this. You don't have to do this."

Harry didn't say anything. He was biting the inside of his cheek so hard, he could taste blood. He dug his nails into his palms, trying to distract himself.

How had all of this gone so terribly wrong?

At last, he heard George's footsteps crossing the Chamber. He was alone.

Harry sank to his knees on the cold stone, cursing himself. What the hell was wrong with him? Why had he DONE that?

He knew why. He wanted to protect George from himself. From the pain of losing him. Harry knew loss, and he didn't want George to feel that. He didn't want any of his friends to know that feeling.

He shouldn't have told them about the prophecy. He should have realized that they would pledge themselves to him, ready to throw down their lives. He couldn't let that happen. He just couldn't.

He had to make it so that they would be alright with his death. He had to create distance.

He could practically hear the voices of Sirius and Remus in his head, screaming at him to stop being an idiot. But his own voice was too loud. Too strong.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there on the cold stone, shivering and empty. At last, he pulled himself together enough to make the journey back to Gryffindor Tower. It was very late. Way past midnight.

He was in for a shock when he entered the Common Room. All five of his friends, looking red-eyed and pale, were waiting for him.

Harry paused at the door, staring at them.

"Sit," Hermione ordered, voice harsher than he'd ever heard it.

Harry did, sitting in an empty chair, avoiding their eyes.

"You're not allowed to push us away. I'm serious, we're not going to let you."

Hermione's voice was hard, not an ounce of doubt in her tone.

"I know you think you're protecting us, but you're not. All you're doing is hurting yourself. Hurting OUR friend. That hurts us."

Harry kept his eyes glued to the floor, tracing the pattern of the dancing firelight with his gaze.

"We love you, Harry. You won't be able to change that. We're going to fight in the war too. That's our choice to make. You can't make it for us, and you can't just decide to stop living."

"I'm not…"

"You are. You think you're going to die. You're living your life like you're going to end up in an early grave."

"I probably will…"

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!" Ron exploded.

Harry jerked his head up, staring at Ron. His best mate almost never yelled.

"You're not going to die. I won't let you!"

"The prophecy doesn't say anything about you dying, Harry," Hermione cut back in, putting a hand on Ron's arm.

"And frankly, the fact that you're so quick to accept that you're going to die concerns me. All of us, actually."

"We're not going to let you pull away from us, Harry. No matter how hard you try. It's not going to happen," Neville spoke slowly and deliberately, force behind every word.

Harry bowed his head. Why did his friends have to be such stubborn, amazing, determined, wonderful people?

"Alright. I'm...sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

"It's okay, Harry. We don't mind worrying about you. That's what friends do."

Hermione stood, straightening her dressing gown.

"The rest of us are going to bed. You two,"

She gestured to Harry and George.

"Are going to talk to each other. Fix this."

With that, Hermione and the others left the Common Room, leaving Harry alone with George.

Harry didn't know what to say. He'd screwed up. Again. He'd hurt George. Badly. He didn't deserve forgiveness for that.

"Stop thinking so loudly," George said softly, coming to sit next to him.

"That doesn't even make sense…" Harry murmured, struggling to keep his voice steady.

"Maybe not."

They sat there for a minute, neither speaking. Neither knowing what to say.

"I don't know how to make this better," George finally whispered.

"I'm so worried about you. And not because of Voldemort. You seem, I don't know, like you...like you don't even care about your own life. Like you don't even like yourself. That scares me, Harry."

Harry stayed quiet, knowing George was right. He didn't like himself most of the time. He felt like an imposter. Someone else masquerading in the skin of a hero.

"Please don't be mad, but I called Sirius. I know where you keep the mirror, and I just...I needed him to know some of the stuff you said. He knows about the artifacts now, and about..well, what you said about you dying. I'm not sorry. I'm sorry if it hurts you, but I'm not sorry I did it. You're struggling with this more than I think you've let yourself realize."

Harry didn't know how to feel. He never knew how to feel anymore.

"He said he wants to talk to you tonight. No matter what time. I don't think he'll sleep until he hears from you."

Harry buried his head in his hands, breathing deeply. He'd ruined everything.

"Hey...It's okay."

"It's not. I'm so sorry, George. I don't know what I was thinking. The things I said to you were terrible, and I don't understand why…"

"What don't you understand?"

"I d-don't understand why I believe the things I said. I believe that my life isn't worth anything, and I KNOW that's not true, but I can't make myself FEEL it…"

"I know. And I don't know how to fix that."

"Maybe it can't be fixed. Maybe I'm just too messed up…"

"That's not true. I believe...no. I KNOW that you can learn to value your own life. I KNOW you can. You know how I know?"

"How?"

"Because I'm going to help you. And George Weasley never fails when he puts his mind to something!"

Harry made a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"You're so full of it."

"Yeah, maybe. But you have the self-worth of a goldfish. My arrogance balances us out."

"Do goldfish even have self-worth?"

"No idea. I just thought it sounded cool."

Silence fell for a moment, the sound of crackling flames filling the air.

"George, I'm really sorry. I really don't mean to be such an idiot."

"I know. And I don't mean to be such an ass to you about things you can't help. I always promise myself that I won't shout at you, then I always end up shouting at you."

"And I promise to ask for help and lean on my friends, but I always end up breaking those promises."

George laughed, draping an arm around Harry.

"Well, just look at us. What a flawed pair we are."

"I guess so."

"Better together than apart though, I'd say."

"Yeah. Better together."

Harry and George talked for a while longer, light conversation replacing the heaviness of emotion. Around three in the morning, Harry went to go call Sirius, hoping his godfather wasn't freaking out.

Sirius was, in fact, freaking out.

"I'm so glad you're okay. I was really worried."

He looked worried, eyes wild and red-rimmed.

"I'm sorry I worried you, Sirius. I was just...having a bad day."

Sirius frowned.

"I think it's more than that, Harry."

Maybe it was.

"I don't want to feel this way, Sirius. I know that I should care more about whether I die. But I just...I can't care when I know I could save other people. I just...I can't."

Sirius sighed, running his hands through already wild hair.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Harry. Really. But it'll get better if you let it."

"How do you mean?"

Sirius stared off into space for a few moments, saying nothing.

"It got better for me. After, well…"

Sirius cleared his throat, turning his eyes back to Harry.

"After the Whomping Willow incident, I was in a really dark place, Harry. You have to understand that Remus, James, and Snape all thought I had meant to kill Snape. I felt so guilty about almost exposing Remus and hurting Snape that I didn't even try to correct them. I was such a fool! I was so frustrated, and I told Snape how to get past the Willow. He could have died! Remus could have been expelled or worse."

Harry listened, watching Sirius grow paler, seeing the remorse in every line of his face.

"James and Remus cut all ties with me after that. They thought I was reckless and cruel. They were sort of right. I've always struggled to control those parts of myself. My parents wanted me to be that way. They beat it into me, and I couldn't always control it."

Harry noticed that Remus had come to stand behind Sirius, listening with wide eyes.

"I don't blame them, really. I deserved their rejection. I was alone for a few weeks. Just alone in my head. That's never been good for me. I spiral. Quickly. James and Remus were all that kept me sane. Without them...I just. I lost it."

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat, dreading where Sirius was going with this.

"One night, I found myself on the Astronomy Tower. I don't really remember how I got there. I almost...well...you can guess what almost happened."

Sirius took in a shuddering breath.

"Lily found me there. She was a Prefect, you see, just doing rounds. Good thing too. She was really angry with me actually. So angry. I think maybe it's a redhead thing."

Harry thought about George.

"Maybe."

"She was so angry at me because she was scared. Scared that I would die. We didn't know each other too well at that point because I wasn't nice to Snape, but..."

"Snape?" Harry interrupted, confused.

Sirius looked bewildered for a moment.

"They were friends. Did I not tell you that?"

"No."

"Merlin, I'm sorry. I thought I told you. Curse my blasted Dementor Dementia…"

"Your what?"

"It's what he calls his memory loss from Azkaban. It's not bad usually, but sometimes he forgets little things."

Remus moved to sit down next to Sirius.

"Anyway, Snape and Mum were...friends?"

Remus sighed.

"Yes, they grew up in the same neighborhood. They had a rather bad falling-out not long after the events Sirius is discussing. That will become clear in a moment. Keep telling the story, Padfoot."

Sirius nodded.

"Right, well, Lily asked me what was wrong, and I told her everything. She already knew Snape's version because he'd told her. She just listened. I'd never felt that heard before."

Remus' face contorted in pain for a moment, guilt in his eyes.

"Anyway, after I was done talking she took me right to McGonagall. Woke her up and everything. That was when Minnie and I started having our sessions together. You have to understand something about your mother. She was a fierce woman and always the first to stand up to injustice. She always tried to see the best in people, but she was also extremely terrifying when she was angry. After she left me with McGonagall, she actually marched into the Fifth Year dormitory, woke Remus and James, and dragged them to the Common Room."

"She gave us the scolding of the century. She asked if we'd actually taken the time to listen to Sirius' side of the story. When she told us what had almost happened, I thought I might…"

Remus stopped speaking, pressing a hand to his mouth.

"It's okay, Moony," Sirius whispered.

"Anyway," Remus continued, smiling weakly at Sirius.

"Lily was always very adamant that we all had flaws. She thought everyone was messed up in some way, but that we could all make the effort to change. It was one of the reasons she stayed friends with Snape for as long as she did."

Harry was still confused.

"I don't understand…"

Sirius sighed.

"This is hard to explain. But Hogwarts at that time was very different from how it is now. Blood Supremacy was on the rise. It was everywhere. I've tried to move on from House prejudice, but at that time, most Slytherins were being funneled right into Voldemort's ranks. We may have been in school, but we weren't in a bubble. We knew what was happening outside. People were dying. Muggle-borns were dying. There were attacks at Hogwarts as well. Nasty things."

Sirius shuddered, grimacing in disgust.

"Snape was friends with Lily as all this was happening, but he was falling farther into the wrong crowd. One of the people he associated with, Mulciber, had assaulted a younger girl a few weeks before the Whomping Willow incident. Lily was already upset about that. She kept urging him to change his mind, to come back to the light, to go to Dumbledore. Anything. He wouldn't. She was clinging to the boy she knew, I think. Wanting him to make an effort. After I nearly...well, she was furious at Snape. Furious at him for pretending that he didn't know what was waiting down that tunnel. Furious."

Sirius stopped speaking, seemingly unsure how to continue. Remus cut in, giving Sirius time to compose himself.

"Not as furious as James was though. James had never liked Snape, but it had been a rivalry up until that point. But when Sirius nearly died, and I was nearly found out...James lost it. There was an...incident. It was after OWLs…"

"I said I was bored," Sirius said, a tear dripping down his cheek.

"And he was so worried that I was...still…"

"Suicidal," Remus said quietly.

"Yeah. And he just...went for Snape. It was...awful. James had never been that cruel before. And Lily got involved. It was a mess. Snape ended up calling her a...well, a word you shouldn't call Muggle-borns."

Harry suddenly understood.

"Their friendship ended that day. It was a wake-up call for James as well. He hated the part of himself that showed that day. I mean, really, really hated it."

"Some people say your father changed because of Lily. That's not precisely true. She only started tolerating him once he'd already begun to change."

"He went to Dumbledore, told him everything, and asked to be expelled."

"What?" Harry gasped.

"Yes," Remus said gravely.

"That period was very hard for all of us. It nearly broke James. Almost losing Sirius was extremely difficult for him. He would stay up all night watching him, making sure he was still breathing. He was exhausted and it brought out the worst in him. He told Dumbledore everything he'd done. Confessed it all."

"What did Dumbledore do?"

"What Dumbledore does. He forgave."

Harry pondered that.

"You must understand, Harry. That what Dumbledore believes, what your mother believed as well, is that redemption must start from a place of remorse. Remorse without stipulation, without caveat. James found that. He hated himself for a while. Most people don't know that. A lot of his arrogance was a front. He had a wealthy upbringing, sure, but his life wasn't always easy. He struggled with things too, even if people couldn't see it. It was that change, that remorse, that resolve to do better, that led Dumbledore to make him Head Boy and Lily to eventually love him."

"And...Snape?" Harry asked, wanting to know the answer to this question.

"At that point in his life, Severus didn't try to find redemption. He didn't feel remorse. To be fair, he didn't know a lot of what had happened. He probably believed that Sirius had tried to kill him. Lily...well, she'd tried everything to stop him joining the Death Eaters. But…"

"It was too late," Harry said.

"Yes."

"It was difficult," Sirius choked out.

"Because looking back on it, he probably had it rough at home too. But I just saw that he was into Dark Magic. And for me all that meant was…"

Sirius shook his head violently, trembling slightly. Remus put a hand on his shoulder, whispering to him for a second.

"I was terrible to him. And I shouldn't have been. And I regret it...so much."

Sirius' voice broke.

"Just like Reggie…"

Harry looked at Remus, but the other man shook his head slightly. Sirius continued speaking, not noticing their interaction.

"I'm sure his actions were partially motivated by what he put up with at home. And he hated us. I know why! We were horrible to him. Of course he chose to get away from us! And he didn't know what we were going through just like we didn't know what he was going through."

Harry thought about that. He understood why Sirius felt guilty. But he wasn't so sure he was to blame for Snape's choice to join the Death Eaters. That had still been Snape's choice. No one could make your choices for you.

Sirius finally regained his composure, turning back to Harry.

"The point of all of this, Harry. Is that I understand self-loathing. I understand not valuing your own life. And it DOES get better. If you let people in. If you just TRY. If you ever feel like I did…"

"Sirius, I'm not...suicidal."

"We know that, Harry," Remus cut in gently.

"But you do have low self-esteem and a disregard for your own safety. That's a concerning combination."

"If it ever gets worse...call me, okay? Anytime? I'll be here for you. Always."

"Okay."

The call ended not long after that, and Harry sat on his bed, thoughts swirling.

That story had helped. More than Harry thought it would. Every single person in his life, all of them, had flaws. Sirius was reckless, sometimes cruel, damaged by years of abuse and over a decade of isolation. Remus was ashamed, afraid to stand up to his friends, afraid of himself. His mother had been quick to anger. His father had been arrogant and cruel.

But Sirius was also brave and loyal, loving and funny. Remus was intelligent, passionate, kind. Lily had been quick to forgive, brave, strong. James had been protective, courageous, and firm in his convictions.

Harry was self-loathing, damaged, and afraid. He was also kind, brave, and selfless.

Everyone had flaws, secrets, scars. Tiny or large, they were there. But you still got to choose. You still got to choose whether to let those scars overwhelm you. You could become bitter and cold, unforgiving of those who had hurt you. Or, you could forgive. You could forgive because you, yourself, had been forgiven.

Harry could do that. He could choose to live. To forgive. And he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a day early because what was going to be Chapter 28 was about twice the length of my normal chapters. Instead of posting a monster chapter, I've divided them in half. The second half (now called Chapter 29) will be coming TOMORROW, just like normal. 
> 
> Thank you all for the comments and Kudos. I really appreciate it :)


	29. Valentine's Day

Harry was on a mission. Specifically, he was on a mission to make sure that Ron and Hermione ended up on a date during the Valentine's Day Hogsmeade weekend.

Both Ron and Hermione had told Harry that they wanted to ask the other out, both had expressed fears that the other didn't like them back, and both were acting like cowards.

Harry had enlisted George's help because he could think of no one better to help him prank his two stubborn friends into admitting their feelings. Weirdly enough, George was not Harry's only ally. Professor McGonagall had also asked Harry to help get Hermione and Ron together so she could stop watching them make fools of themselves.

"Honestly, Potter," she'd told him during one of his detentions.

"Those two practically have hearts for eyes. It's painful to watch."

Professor McGonagall had encouraged Harry's matchmaking endeavors as part of what she was calling the "Normal Life Protocol." After his breakdown in the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius and Remus had spoken at length with Professor McGonagall, trying to find a way to help Harry feel more stable. The result of that conversation was the Normal Life Protocol. A fancy name, coined by Sirius, for the prioritization of normal teenage activities.

Normal teenage activities, according to Sirius, meant Snogging, Seeking, Studying, and Shenanigans. Remus and Professor McGonagall had not been pleased by Sirius' list. At all. Professor McGonagall had suggested a far more reasonable set: homework, friends, and Quidditch.

It had been a pleasant week. At first, he was furious about the so-called protocol. He had panicked, thinking that he would never defeat Voldemort if he spent his time doing homework and playing Quidditch. As the days went by, however, he realized the genius of the plan. When he prioritized the things that felt normal, he felt far better emotionally, no longer crippled by fears of the prophecy. He was more productive, everything coming more easily. It was a nice feeling. He was sleeping better too, waking with the other boys rather than hours before.

His good mood was compounded by the temporary absence of Occlumency from his life. Professor Snape, in an uncharacteristically considerate move, had agreed to suspend all Occlumency lessons until Harry had finished his catch-up sessions with Professor McGonagall.

His freedom from Occlumency was drawing to a close, however. He had a lesson in three days.

Before that lesson, Harry was determined to get Ron and Hermione together.

Cupid Harry was on the case.

Unfortunately for Harry, he had no romantic sensibilities. He liked the idea of romance...he was just BAD at it. His terrible attempt at asking Cho to the Yule Ball was evidence enough of that. He was an awkward person by nature, and awkwardness was NOT helpful when trying to ask someone out.

Fortunately for Harry, George seemed to have a knack for romantic stuff.

"I get it from Mum," George told him.

"She basically had to con Dad into a date because he was petrified to ask her. I've inherited her skill. Obliviousness and cowardice will not stop me!"

Their plan went into effect on the Saturday before Valentine's day, one week before the Hogsmeade weekend. Harry had asked Ron and Hermione to meet him in the Room of Requirement at 7 pm for a Founders' League planning session.

Harry and George arrived at 6:30, needing some time to put everything in place.

When Ron and Hermione arrived, the room looked perfectly ordinary. Nothing out of place.

"Where's Harry?" Ron asked, peering about the room as if Harry was hiding somewhere.

Unbeknownst to Ron, Harry was, in fact, hiding. His Invisibility Cloak really did come in handy sometimes. The first phase of the plan (Confession) was successfully underway.

"I don't know. It's not like him to be late."

Harry and George waited with bated breath as their targets moved into the center of the space, heading straight for the conference table Harry had requested from the Room.

"Look!" Ron said, picking up a scrap of parchment from the table.

"Harry left us a note!"

Ron unfurled the parchment, eyes scanning across the page.

"What's it say?"

Ron's ears were turning red, crimson spreading across his freckled skin.

"Nothing," Ron squeaked, voice much higher than normal.

Hermione, quickly running out of patience, snatched the note from Ron's fingers.

"Oi!"

Hermione read the note, her face contorting into an incredible mixture of confusion, embarrassment, and happiness. The result was akin to a fish out of water.

Harry had to slap his hand over George's mouth to muffle his laughter.

The note was simple, an epistle from Cupid Harry himself:

_You two need to go to Hogsmeade together. You both like each other._

_Stop being dumb._

_Love,  
Hogwarts Cupid_

"Do you...I mean…" Ron stuttered, glancing from the note back to Hermione's face.

"DoyouwanttogotoHogsmeade?"

George was doubled over now, choking on silent laughter as he watched his younger brother struggle to ask out his crush.

"Alright," Hermione said, blushing brilliantly.

Success!

It was time for phase two: Congratulations.

"Dobby," Harry whispered, glad he had thought to involve the friendly House-elf.

"Cue the Confetti Cannons."

The world exploded.

Glitter was everywhere: heart-shaped confetti, dragon-shaped confetti, cloud-shaped confetti. All the confetti.

Ron and Hermione were covered in it, a pile of rainbow glitter balancing gently on top of Ron's head.

Harry and George couldn't take it anymore. They laughed. Loudly.

Hermione, somehow managing to look intimidating while covered in glitter, marched directly toward them and yanked the Invisibility Cloak off.

"You think this is funny?" She demanded, pointing to the bits of random confetti sticking out of her bushy hair.

"N-No…" Harry choked out, laughing harder.

"I KNOW it's funny! Look at you! Look at Ron!"

Ron was still standing in the middle of the room, a small glitter mountain on his head, his mouth open in shock. Hermione's lip twitched. She smiled.

Then, she giggled.

That was all it took. Ron started laughing too, grin breaking across his face as he took in the scene. Before long, they were all nearly crying with laughter, eyes watering as they cackled.

"Where did you get all this confetti?" Hermione asked, trying to brush some glitter off Ron's nose.

"It's our newest product idea," George said proudly.

"The Confetti Cannon. Must-have product at all parties."

Harry smiled, listening as George and Hermione began debating how best to clean up the glitter. Well, Hermione wanted to clean it up. George was just proposing increasingly ridiculous things. Harry's favorite was his suggestion that they use magnets to pick up the glitter.

"What? Is your confetti made of metal?"

George shrugged.

"I don't know. You'd have to ask the manufacturer."

Hermione glared at him.

"You are the manufacturer."

"Who? Me? I don't know where you're getting your information, but I'd check the reliability of your source."

"You literally told me 2 minutes ago."

George shook his head sadly.

"Hermione, you should know better than to trust me."

As it turned out, they needn't have worried about the glitter. Dobby wanted to keep it for his artwork. The little elf had improved greatly since the "portrait" of Harry he'd made just a few months ago.

Dobby explained that he'd been popping out of Hogwarts more and more frequently, taking holidays in the Muggle world. House-elf magic was incredible, and Dobby took full advantage of it. He'd been sneaking into Muggle art classes for months, learning technique and perspective.

Harry wondered if other House-elves might be interested in hobbies such as art or music. It wasn't freedom, which many of them were adverse to, but it might be a stepping stone. A chance to express their personality as it existed separate from servitude. A chance to understand freedom of spirit. Maybe their desire for physical freedom could spring from that.

Harry was not a fan of SPEW (Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare) only because he didn't agree with the strategy of the movement. One couldn't force their ideals onto others, jamming thoughts into their heads.

It was better, Harry thought, to give House-elves a narrative, an identity, a consciousness of themselves as a class of individuals. From there, freedom would become an obvious goal. Importantly, they would be the ones to demand it. Not outsiders, projecting their own ideals onto a group they didn't understand.

The notion that House-elves needed to be "saved" from their own backward culture was arrogant and disrespectful. Harry agreed that the abuse of House-elves was a terrible thing, he agreed that House-elves should be paid and well-treated, but he thought that change needed to have allies on the ground. They needed House-elves to demand those rights. They needed to understand what House-elves wanted, what they needed. Only then could they launch an effective advocacy movement. A partnership. Not patronizing paternalism presented as a fight for justice.

Harry resolved to spend more time talking to House-elves. Not just Dobby. He didn't know much about them. Not really. It was time he learned.

"What do you think about starting an art class?" Harry asked Dobby the next morning.

He'd forsaken breakfast in the Great Hall and headed for the kitchens instead, wanting to spend time with his favorite House-Elf.

"Dobby? Start an art class?"

"You're getting really good, Dobby! And I think it might be good for the others. To take a break from work, learn something new. What do you think?"

Dobby contemplated for a moment, brow furrowed.

"Dobby thinks it would be an excellent idea, Harry Potter. Many House-elves love art. It is why we enjoy decorating for the holidays here at Hogwarts. Perhaps Dobby can suggest it as part of service for Hogwarts. We can make decorations for every month! Dobby thinks that would make House-elves happy. Then, once they learn how, they understand what art means. Then, they understand freedom."

Harry stared at Dobby. How had he never realized that Dobby was a visionary? A revolutionary.

"Awesome idea, Dobby."

"Thank you, Harry Potter, Sir! Dobby will get it started! Don't worry, Harry Potter!"

Harry wasn't worried. If anyone could show House-elves what freedom meant, it was Dobby.

Now that Ron and Hermione had a date, it was time for Cupid Harry to hang up his wings and return to normal life. That meant Occlumency.

He arrived at Snape's office promptly, not sure what to expect. He hadn't spoken to the man since he'd yelled at him about Malfoy. That felt like lifetimes ago. In the time since that day, he'd almost died, been in a Potion-induced coma for 8 days, and had a small mental breakdown.

He desperately hoped that his Spell Sensing method would prove effective. He didn't want his fragile happiness to be shattered by terrible memories.

Snape greeted him with his typical cold stare, gesturing for him to take a seat. Harry did so, watching his Professor warily.

Harry wasn't sure how to feel about Snape. Knowing that he'd been friends with Harry's mother had only caused more conflict for him. On the one hand, he wanted to look for the good that Lily had seen in the man. On the other hand, he couldn't understand how someone could treat the son of their childhood friend the way Snape treated him. His primary emotion when it came to Snape was confusion. Pure and simple. He didn't know what to think.

"You are fully recovered?" Snape asked suddenly, sounding disinterested.

Harry almost fainted from shock. Had Snape just asked if he was okay?

"Yes, Sir."

"Very well, then. Clear your mind, Potter. Let's begin."

Instead of clearing his mind, Harry reached out his magic, letting the sounds of the office engulf him.

Harry almost had to stop when he heard Snape's magic. It was terribly angry and horribly sad. Waves of dissonant melodies, strains of bitterness and misery. It was almost painful to hear.

"Legilimens."

Harry tried the same method he'd used with Remus, focusing on his own magic, trying to force Snape's away.

It worked for only a moment. Snape was far more forceful than Remus had been, drowning out Harry's magic almost instantaneously.

Memories began to flicker at the edges of his mind. Harry did his best to force them away, to bring the sound of his own magic to the front. It didn't work.

_He was sitting in the Owlery, Hedwig perched on his knee._

_The crisp fall air blew through him, fresh and sweet._

_Harry stroked Hedwig's white feathers gently, relishing their softness under his hand._

The memory shifted.

_It was winter, snow swirling just beyond the windows of the Common Room._

_Harry was draped across one of the sofas, trying to absorb the heat from the fire._

_Ron was trying to explain Quidditch to Hermione in the background, their bickering a pleasant hum._

The scene changed again

_Harry was in his room at Privet Drive, the warm glow of evening fading from the sky._

_He watched the shadows fall from his position on the floor._

_Darkness came, but he didn't move to turn on a light. It didn't matter anyway. He'd been locked in for weeks. He knew this room like the back of his hand. Light was hardly necessary anymore._

The memory rippled away

_He was sitting with Sirius, listening as his godfather recounted his final days at Grimmauld Place._

" _She wanted me to join the Death Eaters. I refused. Things got ugly. I tried to stick it out but after a while…"_

More images flashed by, too quick for Harry to understand.

_Hermione was crying, fat tears dropping off her face._

" _I'm so stupid," she cried, burying her face in her hands._

" _I'm not supposed to care about looks! I'm supposed to be clever…"_

" _Hey," Harry said, wrapping an arm around her._

" _You're allowed to care about that stuff, Hermione. It doesn't make you any less brilliant."_

" _But I changed my teeth, Harry. Like a coward. Just because of what he said to me…"_

_Harry grit his teeth, remembering the scene from earlier. The words Snape had sneered into Hermione's face: "I see no difference."_

_He could still see the way her face had crumpled._

" _He shouldn't have said that to you, Hermione. You were perfect then and you're perfect now."_

_She gave him a watery smile, new teeth on full display._

Harry was pulled roughly from the memory. Snape had a strange look on his face. Harry couldn't identify the emotion behind it.

"That was an interesting technique you employed, Potter. I've never seen anything like it. It may have...some potential. Again"

Harry had barely any time to prepare himself.

"Legilimens."

Harry reacted quickly, clinging to his own magic, trying to drive Snape away. It was working, the sound of his magic filling his mind, forcing Snape back. As his magic grew louder, he heard another strain. Not Snape. Not himself. Foreign.

Harry was drawn to it, moth to flame. His magic pulled into the foreign strain like a radio dial being forcibly tuned to another station.

" _The oaf has gained a foothold. He is far more persuasive than we anticipated. Dumbledore has offered them more than I expected."_

_Harry's voice was high-pitched and cold, ringing from lungs that felt unlike his own._

He was caught. He could feel his body, hear Snape's voice ringing in his ears, but he was separate, disjointed, drifting.

" _We must send reinforcements. I will not allow the Giants to be swayed to Dumbledore. Especially if they're being convinced by a fool without a wand and the Headmistress of a second-rate school."_

"Potter! Clear your mind!"

Harry struggled, trying to turn the dial back to his own magic. At last, he pulled away from Voldemort, snapping back into his own body.

"Hagrid," he gasped, turning his eyes to Snape.

"Voldemo…"

"Do. Not. Say. His. Name."

Harry paused, taken aback. He wasn't about to call Voldemort "You-Know-Who." Not when he'd faced the man. Not when he'd been in his mind.

"Tom, then. He's sending reinforcements to interfere with Hagrid. We have to tell Dumbledore!"

Snape sneered at him, face contorting.

"I will tell the Headmaster, Potter. He does not have time for you."

"You'll tell him?" Harry asked quietly. He wanted to be sure.

"I've already said that! Do not question me, Potter!"

Harry said nothing. It wasn't that he didn't trust Snape. He did. In a weird, convoluted sort of way.

It was more that he didn't think Snape took him seriously. He was worried that Snape would dismiss his concerns and tell Dumbledore nothing.

"Sir?" Harry asked, deciding to hold his ground.

"I'd really rather tell Dumbledore myself...if that's alright."

Snape's sneer deepened, premature lines forming chasms on his young face.

"Are you really arrogant enough to think that Dumbledore needs to hear this from you? That only the great Harry Potter can relay this information? You never cease..."

"Stop," Harry said, rising to his feet.

If his interruption shocked Snape, his Professor gave no indication of it. His eyes gleamed with disgust and anger.

"Do not think to tell me what to do, Potter!"

"I'm not, Sir. But I really think I should be the one to talk to Dumbledore. It won't be the same coming from you. You weren't the one in his head. He needs to know everything if he's going to protect Hagrid, and I want to make sure he has all the information. Surely you can understand that, Sir?"

Harry did his best to keep his tone respectful, fighting the urge to run out of Snape's office and dash straight to Dumbledore. He didn't want to be at odds with Snape. For once, he wanted them to understand each other.

"Very well, Potter," Snape said, sounding bored.

"If you insist. Come with me."

Harry followed Snape down the corridor, struggling to keep up with the man's much longer strides. Harry was surprised when the tense silence was broken by Snape.

"What exactly were you attempting to do back there, Potter?"

"Sir?" Harry asked, confused.

"You nearly repelled me the second time. I was not using my full power, but it was...surprising that you achieved such a result. What technique were you using?"

Harry had no idea how to explain this.

"Well, I tried using Spell Sensing. It's difficult to explain exactly…"

"Spell Sensing? You are capable of it?"

"Yes, Sir."

Snape slowed his pace a bit, seemingly lost in thought.

"And you use this method to repel the attacker's magic. Yes?"

"Yes, Sir. I just tried to focus on the sound of my magic above all…"

"The sound?"

Oh. He'd forgotten that Spell Sensing was normally visually-based.

"Yes, Sir. I'm not sure why I hear the magic instead of seeing it, but…"

"Fascinating."

Harry had never seen Snape like this before. His Professor looked almost interested. Almost.

"How do you hear it?"

"Sir?"

"Is it everyday sound, rhythm…?"

"Music. It's music."

Snape frowned.

"Of course it is. Sentimental Gryffindor that you are. I'd expect no less."

Harry didn't have a response for that. He didn't think being a Gryffindor had anything to do with it at all. If he'd been in Slytherin, Harry had no doubt that his Spell Sensing would have presented the same way.

"Of course you of all people would turn Spell Sensing on its head. Special in everything aren't you, Potter?"

Thankfully, Harry was saved from responding to that accusation by their arrival at Dumbledore's office.

To Snape's clear annoyance, Dumbledore was overjoyed to see Harry, inviting them both in for a cup of tea. Harry explained the circumstances of his vision carefully, including every last detail.

"Your concern for Hagrid is admirable, Harry. But don't fret. Hagrid is already returning from his mission. It was a success. The Death Eaters will be greeted by a group of Giants who are firmly on our side. I doubt they'll leave that encounter unscathed."

"So, Hagrid will be back soon?"

Harry couldn't keep the hopefulness out of his voice. He'd missed his largest friend terribly.

"Yes, Harry. Within the week I would wager!"

"Wicked!" Harry exclaimed, beaming at Dumbledore.

Snape snorted derisively, muttering something about over-emotional fools.

Harry ignored him. Hagrid was coming back!

The morning of the Valentine's Day Hogsmeade weekend dawned snowy and cold, sunlight reflecting brightly off the icy grounds.

Harry was excited to spend the day in the village. He didn't have a date, unlike many of his friends, but that was okay with Harry. He wasn't sure he was ready to have a relationship with anyone at the moment. No matter how much he might want to.

Harry was a bit of a mess most days. He had no trouble admitting that to himself. He didn't think it would be fair to burden someone else with his issues.

It felt different than friendship somehow. Once you took the step into romance, there was more pressure. Pressure to take care of the other person. To put them first. Harry didn't think it was fair to make someone do that for him. Even if he already knew who that person would be. Even if they were already offering.

Harry would be spending the day alone with George. Their other friends had dates: Fred was going with Angelina, Ron with Hermione, and Neville with Luna.

Harry tried not to think too hard about what it meant that he was spending this day with George.

Harry had realized something on the day of their prank on Ron and Hermione. It had hit him over the head like a sack of bricks. A revelation that should have been obvious: he was in love with George Weasley.

Looking back, it was plain as day. It had clearly been obvious to everyone else, including George.

But Harry hadn't realized.

He hadn't understood what that warm feeling was. The warm feeling he only ever felt around George.

It wasn't like with Cho. With her, Harry had felt butterflies. She was pretty and made him nervous.

What he felt for George was something altogether different. It felt like home.

Once he'd realized what an idiot he'd been, there was only one place for him to turn. He called Sirius right away.

Sirius took one look at Harry's flushed face and smiled.

"You figured it out."

"I'm...what?"

"You figured out that you're head over heels for George. Am I wrong?"

Harry buried his head in his hands.

"Was it that obvious?"

"To be blunt...yes. Now Minnie owes me 5 galleons!"

"What...you BET on this?"

"Of course. I've got nothing better to do."

"This is the most embarrassing thing! Why did everyone else know how I felt before I did?"

Harry groaned.

"I'm so dumb…"

"Agreed."

"Hey!"

"I'm just kidding, kid. You're allowed to be dumb about this stuff. You're young. Very young."

Harry nodded. He felt young when it came to romance, like a newborn foal struggling to find its feet.

"Hey, Sirius. Do you think it's okay that I'm not ready for anything...like, official?"

Sirius nodded.

"Yes. I think it's more than okay. You two have a true connection. It's not something that needs to be cemented with anything physical. That can happen, or not, whenever you're ready."

Harry wanted it to happen. Someday. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about kissing George. It was a nice thought, but not something he was ready to do just yet.

"Do you think he'll be okay with it? If I'm not ready?"

Sirius nodded.

"I really do think so. I've seen the way he looks at you, Harry. This isn't just a crush for him. Besides, you're only fifteen and he's seventeen. That means if he's a decent guy, which he is, then he'll wait for you. You get to set the pace here, not him."

That conversation had been eye-opening for Harry. He'd begun to notice all the ways George showed him affection without pushing him. It was all the little things: the way his voice changed slightly when he talked to Harry, the way he looked at him, the way he let their arms brush slightly when they walked next to each other.

It meant everything to Harry. Because George knew he wasn't ready for a serious relationship. Knew it because he knew Harry. Profoundly knew him.

As they set out for Hogsmeade, just the two of them, Harry couldn't keep the smile off his face. This day was a gift. George was a gift.

As they walked, Harry slipped his hand into George's, tangling their fingers together.

George didn't say anything. He just smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sprinkles glitter on readers* Here's a happy chapter! Goodness knows we needed one. I'm very aware of how dark the past few chapters have been. I would apologize, but I'm not really sorry. Mental Health is not linear, not simple, not easy. For Harry, who has been through a lot and is carrying a heavy burden, things won't always be sunshine and roses. What I can promise, however, is that there's always light at the end of the tunnel for him. Just as I believe there is for all of us. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the end of Harry's obliviousness. I had planned for George and Harry to be together for a long time, but I don't intend to rush them. Harry is very young and struggling with a lot of issues. He's not ready for a physically romantic relationship. 
> 
> Next chapter is coming SATURDAY and will feature the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff and the return of HAGRID (ngl, I love Hagrid so much)
> 
> Thank you all for the comments and Kudos. They mean so much!!


	30. Malfoy's Mistake

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon in the Gryffindor Common Room, a chorus of scratching quills filling the air.

Although it was still only late February, OWLs and NEWTs were bearing down upon them. Quickly. The Professors were loading them with a brutal amount of homework: massive essays and difficult spell-work.

Harry was finding it increasingly difficult to fit everything into his day. He was doing the work for all his classes, learning Occlumency, meeting with McGonagall, playing Quidditch, running the Founders' League, self-studying for the Arithmancy and Ancient Runes OWLs, AND trying to design an original spell.

He was exhausted.

He wasn't the only one. Hermione was sleeping less and less, dark circles growing ever darker. Neville was nearly killing himself in classes, trying to perform the spells at OWL level. Ron was also struggling, subtly and silently. Ron was an intelligent boy, anyone who knew him could testify to that. The problem was that he wasn't the best at schoolwork. He had difficulty with essays and lost focus easily while reading.

He tried his best. He really did, but Harry could see it getting to him. He could see the fear in his friend's face when talk of OWLs came up. Ron was nervous. Terrified.

Ron had always felt inferior to his brothers. His difficulty with exams only made that feeling worse.

Harry wanted to help Ron. His best mate had been a rock in these past months, supporting him in his worst moments. The least Harry could do was return the favor.

There had to be something he could do.

While everyone else was studying, Harry was trying to come up with a way to help his friend. He had written down a list of ideas, none of them very good.

He sighed, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. He wished George were here. He'd know what to do.

He hadn't seen Fred or George all afternoon. They'd gone off together that morning saying something about product development. The school hadn't exploded yet, so Harry assumed things were going well enough.

He was wrong.

Not ten minutes later, Fred stormed into the Common Room, red-faced and furious. George wasn't with him.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, lowering her book.

"My brother is a prat is what happened."

Harry had never seen Fred like this before. It scared him.

"Is George okay?" Harry asked warily.

"Who cares…" Fred muttered, wiping at his eyes.

Harry cared.

He abandoned his homework, racing up the stairs to his dormitory. He pulled out the Marauder's Map, scanning for George's name. He found his dot by the lake.

Harry practically flew out of the Common Room, running down to the lake as fast as his legs would carry him.

He slowed down when he saw George. He was hunched by the lake, seemingly unaware of the snow soaking through his clothes.

Harry sank down beside him, laying a hand on his arm.

"You okay?"

George shook his head, red hair gleaming in the light.

"Fred wants to leave Hogwarts."

Harry let that sink it, horror growing.

"When?"

"Next week. He says we're ready to start the shop. That there's no reason to stay."

"And what do you want?"

Harry desperately hoped that George didn't want to leave. He didn't want to face Hogwarts without him.

George sighed, dragging his fingertips across the icy surface of the lake, white swirls following in the wake of his hand.

"I want to stay. I want..nevermind. It's stupid."

"I'm sure it's not stupid. Nothing you want could ever be stupid."

George drew in a deep breath, blurting out his next words at an incredible speed.

"I want to be...apotionsmaster."

"A Potions Master?"

George nodded, cheeks reddening.

"I know it's stupid. I'm not…"

"I think it's brilliant."

George turned to him, eyes hopeful.

"Really?"

"Yes. You're amazing at Potions. If you want to be a Potions Master, then do it!"'

Harry frowned, a thought crossing his mind.

"How exactly do you become a Potions Master?"

George's eyes lit up.

"Ideally you apprentice under a Master. Well, it's usually more of an independent capstone project, an original Potion, with a Master acting as an advisor. But to get accepted to work with one, you need an O on your Potions NEWT. I won't get that if I leave."

"Do you think Snape will be your advisor?" Harry joked, smiling mischievously up at George.

The other boy snorted.

"I think he'd probably rather die."

The mirth slowly faded from George's face. He turned his eyes back to the lake, shoulders hunching slightly.

"I still want to help Fred with the shop. I really do. It's always been our dream, but I...I want more than that. I don't just want to make joke products. I want to make a real difference. Help people."

"And you will," Harry said, leaning his head onto George's shoulder.

"I know you will."

They sat like that for several minutes, listening to the wind on the water.

"He's really angry at me," George whispered.

"We both have tempers, but I've never seen him like that before. I think he might hate me."

Harry raised his head to look straight into George's eyes, hating the turmoil he saw there.

"He doesn't hate you."

George sighed, swiping his hand across his eyes.

"Sorry," He muttered, blushing.

"I'm acting like a baby."

"No. You're not. Emotion isn't weakness, George."

George glared at him.

"Says you. The boy who has cried like 3 times in his entire life."

Harry frowned.

"That's not true. Besides, I may not cry very often, but that doesn't mean I don't have feelings. You've seen me these past few months. You know better than anyone just how many negative emotions I have."

"Yeah, I know. I just...I want to be strong."

"You are strong, George. Feeling sad doesn't change that."

George gave Harry an odd look, almost apprehensive.

"Can I ask you something?"

Harry nodded warily, wondering what George wanted to know.

"Why don't you cry? I mean, I saw you shed one single tear when you talked about your friend after Occlumency, but I've never seen more than that. Ever. Not even when you were barely eleven. Not when you've broken bones, not when you've nearly been killed, not even after the Third Task. "

Harry bit his lip, not knowing how to explain this. George didn't like the Dursleys. He'd met them, after all. He knew that Harry didn't like Privet Drive, but he didn't know how Harry was truly treated at the Dursleys.

"It's just a thing I stopped doing."

"Why?"

Harry sighed.

"It's just...no one cared when I did. My Aunt always told me to stop. My Uncle would...well, he didn't think boys should cry. Ever."

George had an odd look on his face.

"Did he...hurt you?"

Harry shrugged, avoiding George's eyes.

"Not badly. He would manhandle me sometimes, but he only ever hit me when he was really angry.."

"ONLY when he was really angry? That doesn't make me feel any better. Does he still do it?"

Harry said nothing.

"He does?"

"No...not often…"

"NOT OFTEN? That's not good enough, Harry. Merlin, I knew you didn't like them, but I didn't know…"

"George, calm down. It's not a big deal."

George sighed, wrapping his arm around Harry.

"It is a big deal, Harry. It's a very big deal. Does anyone else know?"

"Sirius does. Well, he knows about the cupboard…"

Oops. Harry hadn't wanted to tell George that detail just yet.

"What cupboard?"

"Forget it."

"Harry…"

Harry let his head flop back on George's shoulder, gathering his courage. He would feel better if he just told George.

"It was just where I lived until Hogwarts."

"In a cupboard?"

"Yes."

George said nothing for several moments, pulling Harry closer to him.

"Please tell me that you know that wasn't okay."

"Yeah, I know," Harry whispered.

"Good," George whispered back.

"You deserve so much more than that. So much more."

Harry nestled his head further into George's shoulder. It was cold out here.

"Hey! Is that smoke coming from Hagrid's hut?" George said suddenly, shifting under Harry's head.

Harry whipped his neck up so fast, he almost smashed his forehead into George's.

"It is!"

Harry jumped to his feet, pulling George up with him.

"Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!"

"Calm down, Harry," George laughed.

"You look like a deranged puppy."

"Don't care! Hagrid is back!"

Hagrid was just as happy to see Harry as Harry was to see him, wrapping him in a hug so tight Harry thought his internal organs had moved.

Hagrid explained how he'd won over the Giants and met his half-brother, Grawp.

"He's livin' in the forest. Wanted to come back with me, sweet fellow."

Harry tried not to freak out at the idea of there being a Giant living in the Forbidden Forest. He guessed it was better than giant spiders. Or another Dragon.

Harry and George talked with Hagrid for over an hour, listening with rapt attention as he recounted his adventure into the mountains.

By the time Hagrid had finished his tale, it was already 30 minutes into dinner.

"Get on with you!" Hagrid said, finally noticing the time.

They moved across the grounds, hands twined together.

Suddenly, a scream split the air, high-pitched and terrified.

"What was that?"

"It came from over there," Harry said, pointing toward a large tree by the lake.

They raced toward the spot, wands at the ready.

What they found was horrifying.

A group of five older boys, Ravenclaws and Slytherins, had cornered a Gryffindor Third Year. Harry recognized her immediately. She was a Muggle-born girl from the Founders' League. Her name was Abigail.

The boys had her boxed in, body pressed against the tree, blocking any attempt at escape.

Harry did not like the way the boys were looking at her. Or how close they were.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, raising his wand higher.

The group turned toward him, raising their own wands.

"Teaching a Mudblood a lesson. If you're smart, Potter, you'll walk the other way."

It was Malfoy. Of course he was here.

"Like hell," Harry spat, leveling his wand at Malfoy's chest.

"Let her go, and we'll let you walk away unscathed," George said, anger clear in his voice.

"As if you can take on all of us at once. You're not that good at Defense, Potter."

"Oh yeah?" George said, raising an eyebrow.

"Want to test that theory?"

It seemed that they did want to test that theory.

They moved away from Abigail, forming a united front, wands pointed straight at Harry and George.

Abigail seized the opportunity, fleeing back toward the castle. Harry hoped she was getting a Professor. This could get ugly.

Malfoy fired the first spell. It was a Cutting Curse. He wasn't messing around.

Harry blocked it easily, sending a Stunning Spell back at the group, clipping one of the Seventh Year Ravenclaws before he could fire anything back.

George took out another boy with a well-aimed Petrificus Totalus.

The other three were more problematic. Malfoy, for all his false bravado, was actually quite a competent dueler. He also knew many dark spells. Spells Harry had never even heard of. He found himself dodging far more often than he wanted, firing Stunners at Malfoy that never quite hit their mark.

George took out another of the boys with a Stunner, dropping him to the frozen ground. It was two-on-two.

Everything went wrong so quickly, a series of events and mistakes, occurring together in perfect disaster.

Harry heard Malfoy shout a spell he didn't know, a fierce cry of "Sectumsempra!"

Harry ducked, not having enough time to raise a shield.

The first thing he noticed was that Malfoy's face had gone pale, wand dropping from his fingers as he stared over Harry's shoulder, gasping in shock.

Harry turned his head, unable to do anything but watch in horror as blood began to blossom across George's chest.

"I didn't mean to...I thought you would block it. I didn't mean…" Malfoy was stuttering, nonsensical apologies flowing from his lips. Harry didn't hear him.

He rushed toward George, reaching out to catch him as he collapsed to the ground.

The other Ravenclaw boy had fled when George had been hit, realizing how bad this looked.

Harry pressed his left hand against the deep wounds in George's chest, using his right to cast every healing spell he knew.

Nothing was working.

The wounds would close for only a moment before opening again, spilling George's precious blood onto the snow.

"Malfoy!" Harry cried, panic pulsing through his body, hands shaking against George's blood-soaked shirt.

"What's the Counter Curse?"

"I-I don't know. My Father didn't tell me. He j-just told me the incantation of the Curse. I w-wasn't even sure what it did…I'm s-so s-sorry."

Harry ignored Malfoy's fragmented apologies, pressing his hands against George's wounds, trying to stem the flow of blood.

George gasped in pain, eyes flickering, fingers gripping Harry's arm.

"Just hold on, George. You'll be okay."

He had to be okay. He had to be okay.

Harry raised his wand, knowing he needed to get a Professor down here as soon as possible.

Thinking about George's hand in his, Harry shouted.

"Expecto Patronum."

He whispered his message to the glowing stag, sending it off the Great Hall. Dinner was in full swing. All the Professors would be there.

"Please. Please..." Harry whispered, heart beating too fast.

"Harry…" George whispered, eyes finding his face.

"Shhhh...don't talk. Don't talk."

George was turning pale, lips white. The snow around him was red. There was too much blood. Too much blood.

"No," Harry gasped, watching the light starting to fade from George's eyes.

Desperate, he reached his magic out to George, pouring his strength into his body.

It was the exact opposite of what he'd done with the snake. Now, he was trying to keep George alive.

It wasn't true healing and it wasn't a permanent solution, but it seemed to be helping. George's eyes gained some clarity, focusing on Harry's face.

Harry was straining with the effort, magic reaching its limits. He was giving George everything he had. All of his energy. Every last bit of it. It had to be enough. It just had to be.

Harry's vision was swimming, a mirage of red and white. Blood and Snow.

He barely heard the footsteps approaching them, running.

"Get out of the way, Potter!"

Harry was pushed roughly to the side as Snape knelt over George. Harry righted himself, shaking badly, watching as Snape waved his wand over George, muttering words Harry couldn't hear. The wounds began to close instantly.

Harry inhaled shakily, relief coursing through him as he watched the blood recede from the snow, color returning to George's face, light coming back to his eyes.

Professor McGonagall tried to pull him away from George's side, but Harry resisted.

"I'm not leaving him," Harry choked out.

"I won't."

"Alright, Harry," she said gently, patting his arm.

Snape conjured a stretcher, levitating George onto it and heading back toward the castle.

Harry trailed behind, leaving McGonagall to deal with the three incapacitated boys and Malfoy.

Harry couldn't take his eyes off George, watching his chest rise and fall, watching him breathe.

"He will be alright, Potter," Snape said, voice devoid of venom.

Harry nodded, unable to speak.

"He won't scar. There won't be any lasting effects. He just needs to sleep for a few hours. That and a Blood-Replenishing Potion and he'll be back to his normal, annoying self."

Snape was being oddly un-Snapelike, almost comforting.

They arrived at the Hospital Wing, Harry resisting all of Madam Pomphrey's attempts to shoo him away. He wouldn't leave George. He couldn't leave him.

Madam Pomphrey fluttered around George, getting him settled in one of the beds. He had fallen asleep, eyes closed, face peaceful. Harry settled himself in a chair by the bed, trying to convince himself that George was real.

As he reached his hand toward George's, he realized that he was still covered in blood. George's blood. Shuddering, Harry cast a Cleansing Charm, removing the crimson stains from his hands and clothing.

He reached out again and took George's hand, squeezing tightly. His skin was warm. He was alive.

Harry moved closer, laying his head on George's chest, listening to his heartbeat, trying to convince himself that he was alright.

Harry could hear the steady rhythm, strong and stable, but he could still feel the terror thrumming through his body, the panic of George's blood leaking through his fingers, life leaving him.

Harry found himself clinging to George, afraid to let him go. Afraid he would disappear. Even as exhaustion swept over him, his magic nearly spent after his attempt to save George, Harry wouldn't let the other boy go.

With his head on George's chest, fingers gripping his shirt, heartbeat soothing his fears, Harry lost himself to sleep.

He woke to voices, a swirling soundscape of chatter. He lifted his head slowly, wincing at the crick in his neck.

"Harry! You're awake!" Hermione exclaimed, smiling at him from her place next to George's bed. Ron was sitting beside her, Ginny and Fred on the other side of the bed.

George was awake, looking much better, grinning wickedly at Harry.

"Enjoy your nap, Harry?"

Harry didn't say anything. He just gripped George's hand tighter, communicating everything through that gesture.

George squeezed back, eyes full of emotion.

The moment was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Dumbledore was standing near the entrance to the Hospital Wing, smiling kindly at them.

"I was wondering if I might borrow Harry for a moment."

Harry nodded, standing and following Dumbledore out of the Hospital Wing.

"I'm very glad Mr. Weasley is alright," Dumbledore said gently, voice echoing off the stone of the hallway.

"I know you two are very close."

Harry blushed. Why did Dumbledore know everything?

"I was disappointed that I lost the bet, but Sirius knows you better than anyone."

Harry stopped in his tracks, staring at Dumbledore.

"You were in on the bet, Sir?"

Dumbledore beamed, blue eyes twinkling merrily.

"Of course! I thought you would remain oblivious until at least May. Alas, I underestimated young Mr. Weasley's charm."

Harry thought his face might catch on fire.

"Professor Snape thought you would never figure it out."

Dumbledore laughed at Harry's horrified expression.

"I only jest, Harry. Severus has no interest in your love life."

"Thank Merlin," Harry muttered.

When they arrived at Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster settled himself behind his desk, gesturing for Harry to join him.

"Now, Harry. I must ask you to recount the events that transpired this afternoon."

Harry did so, explaining how they'd followed the scream and dueled the boys. He explained how he had ducked Malfoy's spell, how it had hit George, how devastated and confused Malfoy had seemed.

"Sir, what is that spell? Malfoy said he didn't even know what it did."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers before his face, frowning.

"It is a very dark curse. An original spell, invented by a Death Eater during the last war. It is only known to a few high-ranking Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy being one of them. Draco told me that his father had given him a list of curses to be used on…"

"Muggle-borns?"

"Yes, indeed. His father did not see fit to tell him what the curses would do. And Draco, like many young men, believes that his father can do no wrong. He did not expect the spell to have such a violent effect."

Harry nodded. He knew that Malfoy hadn't meant to hurt George. Or even Harry. He had been showing off, using dark spells because he could, not because he really wanted to cause harm.

"What's going to happen to him? And the others?"

Dumbledore sighed, looking older than Harry had ever seen him.

"I am in a very difficult position, Harry. I'm not sure if you know this, but it takes a vote from the Board of Governors to expel a student from Hogwarts. Either that or Ministry involvement. In this case, all five students are Purebloods whose parents have allies on the Board and at the Ministry. They would never be expelled for this. They will, however, face extreme disciplinary action. That, I promise you."

Harry pondered that for a moment. He honestly didn't know how to feel. Part of him wanted Malfoy to be sent packing immediately. He'd almost killed George! But the other part of him understood why that would be a bad idea.

Malfoy had made a mistake. A terrible one. A mistake with potentially deadly consequences. But it had been a mistake. A mistake like the one Sirius had made in sending Snape to the Whomping Willow, reckless and thoughtless. But Sirius had been given a second chance. And Harry thought Malfoy should have one as well.

"I understand, Sir."

Dumbledore smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I thought you might."

"Sir?" Harry asked, unsure how to phrase this request.

"Today, when I was dueling, I realized that...well...I'm not very good at dueling."

He really wasn't. He had hardly any experience.

"Is there any way...Is there someone who could...?"

"You want a teacher," Dumbledore interjected, saving Harry from his own rambling.

"Yes, Sir."

Dumbledore seemed lost in thought for several moments, staring into the distance. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, Dumbledore's blue eyes sparkled with realization.

"I think I may have the perfect solution. Nymphadora has been looking for someone to practice with. I'm sure she would be more than happy to teach you. In fact, I'll call and ask right now."

Dumbledore sent a Patronus off into space, and in less than 5 minutes, Tonks was knocking at the office door, hair bright orange, smile wide.

"Wotcher, Harry!" She said, settling herself into the chair next to him.

"What can I help you with, Professor?"

Dumbledore explained Harry's desire to be trained in dueling.

At his words, Tonks' hair began flashing through the colors of the rainbow, excitement clear on her face.

"Ooohhh. Yes! I would love to. Kid's got potential. With a bit of training, he'll be excellent!"

Harry smiled at her. Tonks' excitement was contagious. She reminded him of Max.

"Why don't you come to my classroom on Mondays and Wednesdays. We'll get you whipped into shape in no time."

Harry agreed readily. His schedule was going to be ridiculously packed, but it was worth it. He never again wanted to feel as helpless as he'd felt that afternoon. Never again.

He left Dumbledore's office, bidding farewell to Tonks as she headed back to her classroom.

There was one last thing he needed to do. One last person he needed to talk to. He needed to find Draco Malfoy.

It was barely an hour until curfew, but Malfoy was not in the Slytherin Common Room. Instead, he was atop the Astronomy Tower. Harry felt a pang in his chest, remembering Sirius. He didn't think Malfoy would jump, but it couldn't hurt to check.

He found Malfoy sitting in a corner of the tower, blond hair shining in the moonlight, eyes fixed on the ground. He looked up as Harry entered, expression turning panicked, hand reaching for his wand.

"I'm not here to fight you, Malfoy. I just want to talk."

Malfoy seemed unsure, but he let his hand drop, empty, back to his side.

"I am sorry, Potter. I never meant to hurt Weasley…"

"I know."

Malfoy was taken aback, staring at Harry like he was a stranger.

"You do?"

"Yes. You're a bigotted prat, Malfoy, but you're not a killer."

Malfoy leaned his head back against the black stone of the tower, looking dejected.

"I know."

"That's not a bad thing."

Malfoy shook his head.

"You don't understand."

"Try me."

Malfoy sighed heavily.

"There are things I'm expected to do, Potter. Things that require…"

"Killing?"

Malfoy nodded.

"You're expected to become a Death Eater, then?"

Another nod.

"You don't have to."

Malfoy snorted.

"You don't. You have choices, Malfoy. You can choose to change. To pick the side that doesn't want to murder children and families just because of their blood."

"They're my family," Malfoy whispered.

"Family is more than blood," Harry retorted.

"You need to choose for yourself, Malfoy. Because if you let your father's ideology shape your whole life, I guarantee you will regret it. Probably forever."

"What choice do I have though? The light side will never accept me…"

"They would. You'd have to prove yourself, sure. Stop being a blood-supremacist idiot, stop attacking people, stop emulating your father at every turn. But if you did all that, Malfoy, there would be a place for you. I guarantee it."

Malfoy said nothing, eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Just think about it."

The boy stayed silent, but Harry could see something flickering in his face, doubt and remorse. He was at a turning point. Harry hoped he would make the right choice.

Harry turned to leave, pausing at the door.

"Draco?" Harry called to the other boy, noticing how his face contorted with shock at the use of his first name.

"You don't want to be a Death Eater. It's just not worth it. I hope you decide to go to Dumbledore. I'll be happy if you do. But know this. If you EVER hurt one of my friends again, they'll be hell to pay. Understand?"

Malfoy nodded, looking Harry right in the eyes.

"I understand."

Harry turned and left the Astronomy Tower, leaving a highly conflicted Draco Malfoy in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting early again. Another monster chapter needed to be split up. There's still another chapter coming TOMORROW, so don't worry! I honestly don't know why this keeps happening. I think my Muse is trying to kill me (please send help)!
> 
> Thank you for all the Kudos and comments! It really means a lot.


	31. Bludgers, Breakthroughs, and Bewildering Beverages

"Again."

Harry groaned, pushing himself off the floor, struggling to pull himself upright.

"Up! Come on!" Tonks encouraged, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Harry managed to stand, wobbling slightly. He steadied himself with great effort, wand at the ready.

They had been at it for nearly three hours, working on perfecting Harry's Shield Charm. It was an exercise in endurance: Tonks would cast spell after spell at him while Harry struggled to maintain his shield.

In the first round, Harry had lasted nearly 20 minutes. But that had been over 2 hours ago, and his strength was nearly spent. This time, Harry's shield crumpled after barely a minute, sending him sprawling back to the ground, back throbbing, completely exhausted.

"Okay. That's enough for today. You look like you're about to pass out."

She offered him a hand. Harry took it gratefully, letting her pull him to his feet. She gave him a kind smile, hair flickering to her preferred bubblegum pink.

"Really excellent work tonight, Harry! Your Shield Charm is one of the strongest I've seen. Most wouldn't have been able to produce one at all by now. Next week I think we'll be able to start doing actual mock duels! I'll even put down some cushions for you! That might help with the bruises. Now, go away!"

Harry grinned at her, offering a wave as he limped from the classroom. He had been training with Tonks for a little over 2 weeks, and every lesson left him bruised and fatigued.

Working with Tonks was like being trained by a hyperactive, overly-enthusiastic demon. She was always nice to him, smiling and praising his efforts, but she also seemed to enjoy beating him into the ground until he resembled a Harry pancake.

Strangely, he enjoyed the lessons. Tonks was such an optimistic person, and she never failed to brighten Harry's mood. Even her tendency to slam him into walls couldn't make him dislike her.

It had been a very busy few weeks. Between homework, extra lessons, Ron's birthday, and training for their upcoming match against Hufflepuff, Harry had barely had time to breathe.

He trudged through the Portrait Hole, dragged himself over to his friends, and collapsed next to George on one of the sofas.

"The lesson was that good, huh?" George joked, eyes glittering with amusement as he took in Harry's prone form.

"Shut up," Harry groaned.

"I've been beaten down enough today without you piling on."

"Well, I was going to give you this Wideye Potion I made for you, but if you're going to be rude…"

Harry turned his gaze onto George, doing his best impression of puppy-dog eyes.

"Sorry. I'll be nice."

George rolled his eyes, pressing the Potion into Harry's hands.

"Whatever you say, Harrikins. I should've known that you're only using me for my Potions abilities."

"Yep!" Harry agreed, downing the Potion in one gulp.

"That's definitely the only reason I like you."

"Stop it!" Fred moaned, covering his face with a book.

"You two are so sappy...it's making my brain hurt."

"Don't be jealous, Freddy!"

Fred pouted.

"I'm not jealous. I have a girlfriend!"

"Whatever you say, brother mine."

Harry sniggered into his hand, watching the twins bicker. Their fight of several weeks ago was long forgiven. Fred had been devastated when George had nearly died, desperate to reconcile with his twin. After George was released from the Hospital Wing, the two brothers had spent hours discussing the future, laying out their individual goals. After much deliberation, Fred had decided to stay at Hogwarts, agreeing to postpone opening the shop until summer.

Fred's decision had changed the dynamic between the twins. They were spending less time experimenting and more time studying for their NEWTs, making the most of their choice to remain in school. George had never looked happier, finding joy in sharing his true passion with his brother. Harry loved watching them work, loving the way George smiled.

Harry peeled his eyes away from the twins, pulling his Spell-Crafting notebook from his bag. He flipped to his latest attempt at the universal shield. It was a bunch of nonsense. He had been stuck in the same place for months, running into dead ends at every turn. He hadn't made anything that was even remotely compatible with the Shield Charm. He'd actually been able to design a Magical Structure that would work to funnel the energy out of the Unforgivables, but it was useless without a base Spell to tie it to. It was incredibly frustrating.

"Still getting nowhere?" Hermione asked, looking at him over the top of the essay she was proof-reading.

"Yeah. I'm missing something, but I can't figure out what it is…"

Hermione frowned, putting down her quill.

"You'll get there, Harry. But maybe you should set it aside for a little bit. Let your mind rest. That's usually when I have my best ideas."

Maybe she was right.

"Besides," Ron said,

"You've got other homework to do, and you can't stay up all night. Or sneak out in the middle of the night to go to the Room of Requirement like you did in the fall."

Harry stared at his best mate, stunned.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" Ron scoffed.

"You're not THAT sneaky, Harry."

Harry added "sneaking" to his mental list of "Things to Get Better At," putting it down alongside "dueling," "Occlumency," and "feelings."

"Have you done the prep for Snape's class on Friday yet?" Hermione asked, gracefully changing the subject.

"The Bewildering Beverage is a very tricky Potion and…"

"Wait," Fred interrupted, grinning.

"You're making the Bewildering Beverage on Friday?"

"Yes. Why?"

Fred and George exchanged a knowing glance.

"Snape always makes someone test that Potion. I hate the git, but it's hilarious."

"He made Lee do it in our year. The idiot spent 30 minutes professing his love for Alicia and talking about waffles. It was amazing!"

Harry felt his stomach drop. He could guess who would be testing the Potion in their class. Snape would never pass up an opportunity to make him look like a fool. Never.

George had read his mind.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'll be sure to remind you to call Sirius after you've taken the Potion. I know you wouldn't want him to miss the opportunity to witness your humiliation."

"Gee, thanks," Harry muttered, glaring at George.

"At least it's the last class of the day," Hermione consoled.

"We can just take you to the Room of Requirement after class."

"Yeah, mate," Ron agreed.

"Don't worry. The Potion just makes you confused and a bit reckless. That's not that different from how you normally are!"

Harry gasped in mock offense as Hermione giggled.

"Thanks for that one, Ron."

"Anytime, Harry," Ron smirked, turning back to his Potions book, Sonic-Quill in hand.

The Sonic-Quill had been Harry's birthday gift to Ron. It was a Text-to-Speech quill that would read the words on the page through a tiny earpiece that came with it. It had adjustable speeds and voices, making it incredibly useful for slow readers. It could also take dictation, allowing Ron to speak his essays rather than write them. Remus had suggested it, remembering that Peter had used one when they were in school.

To Harry's delight, Ron loved the quill. His work had shown marked improvement in the week since he'd gotten it. The quill allowed him to understand the concepts on a much higher level, freeing him from the slog of deciphering the written words.

...

When Friday finally arrived, Harry spent the entire day hoping that Snape would choose someone else to pick on. Maybe Blaise? That would be funny.

Unfortunately for Harry, Snape had already made his decision.

"Once you have completed your Bewildering Beverages, one lucky student will test the best one. Mr. Potter, I think you shall have that honor."

Great.

Despite his apprehension, Harry found it easy to lose himself to the Potion, falling into the rhythmic patterns of the magic. He loved this part of the process, the sound of the Potion swirling around him, each ingredient changing the melody, adding layers of complexity.

By the end of class, Harry had produced a flawless Bewildering Beverage: pale pink and shimmering. He transferred it to a vial, letting it cool. As the students cleaned their stations, Snape moved about the room, silently examining each Potion, looking to determine which was best.

He stopped in front of Harry, raising his Potion to the light, looking for imperfections. Apparently finding none, he turned to Harry with a smirk.

"Well, Potter. It looks like you'll get to test your own Potion."

Snape handed the vial to Harry, looking gleeful. Well, as gleeful as Snape was capable of looking.

"Go on, Potter. The Potion should be sufficiently cooled by now, and we wouldn't want to deprive the class of the opportunity to observe the Potion's effects."

Actually, Harry would very much like to deprive the class of that, but it seemed he had no choice. There were still ten minutes left before class ended, and Snape wouldn't take no for an answer.

Holding back a sigh, Harry gulped down the Potion, grimacing at the taste.

"Potter should begin feeling the effects in a few moments. This Potion induces confusion, nonsensical speaking, and sometimes extreme happiness. It should last roughly an hour. Let's see how Potter does, shall we?"

Harry was listening to Professor Snape. Sort of. His brain felt like it was turning into candy floss. Harry hoped it was the blue kind.

"How are you feeling, Potter?" Professor Snape asked, peering at him.

"Um…" Harry said, unsure.

"Intelligent as always," Snape said, earning laughter from the Slytherins.

That wasn't very nice.

"You're not very nice," Harry told Snape, pointing a finger at him.

"Neither are you," Harry said, waving his finger at the laughing students.

"You shouldn't laugh at people. It's rude."

"5 points from Gryffindor, Potter. For insulting a Professor."

Why could Snape take points again? Could Harry do that?

"And 500 points to Hufflepuff!" Harry declared.

"They're nice. You could learn something from them."

Next to him, Neville was shaking with silent laughter, face turning red. Harry wasn't sure why Neville was laughing. He wasn't joking.

"Potter, are you aware that you are playing against Hufflepuff tomorrow?" Snape asked him, lips twitching.

"In what? Chess? I'm really bad at chess!"

The class was roaring with laughter now. Harry was a bit annoyed by it all.

"No, Potter. Quidditch."

Oh. Quidditch. Harry loved Quidditch.

"I love Quidditch!"

Maybe Snape liked Quidditch too? Maybe he would be nicer if he could play?

"Would you like to join the team, Sir? You could be a Beater! Hitting Bludgers might make you less angry!"

"No, Potter. I would NOT like to play Quidditch."

That was too bad. Quidditch was the best.

Harry absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair, marveling at how weird his brain still felt. Professor Snape watched the movement, his expression changing, a malicious glint in his eye.

"Tell me, Potter. What would you say is your worst quality?"

"Sir, I'm not sure that's appropriate…"

"Quiet, Granger. Potter? Worst Quality?"

Hmm. He had a lot of bad qualities. Which was the worst?

"I get people killed," he told Snape matter-of-factly.

The class fell silent. Even Snape looked shocked. Harry was confused. Had he said something wrong?

"It's okay," he reassured the class.

"I'm trying to be better."

Neville laid a hand on his arm, looking stricken.

"Potter…"

The bell rang before Snape could finish, cutting off his words. Harry lingered by his workstation, forgetting what he was supposed to do when the bell rang. Should he leave? Thankfully, Hermione and Ron seemed to understand his confusion, coming to stand beside him.

"Potter," Snape said, sounding unsure.

"Professor," Hermione interrupted, voice full of fury.

"I think you've done enough."

Snape's lips twisted into an ugly frown as he stared down at Hermione.

"Miss Granger, you will show me respect…"

"No, Sir. I won't. Not after what you just did. You abused your position, took advantage of a student under the influence of a Potion, and turned him into a spectacle. That is unacceptable behavior, and it's not deserving of my respect."

Snape didn't respond to the accusation, he seemed at a loss for words.

"What did you expect him to say, Professor? That he's arrogant? That he's lazy?"

"Miss Granger…"

"You're blinded by prejudice, Professor. Embittered by a grudge against a dead man. A man who has been dead for almost 15 years!"

Snape opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione cut him off, eyes blazing.

"I don't care what he did to you, Professor. That's no excuse to disrespect and mistreat your students."

With that, Hermione turned on her heel and marched from the room, dragging Harry behind her.

Fred and George were waiting just outside the classroom, grinning. The smiles fell from their faces as they saw Hermione's rage-filled expression.

"What happened?" George asked, concern etched on his face.

"Snape is just...ugh! That man drives me insane!"

"He just asked me a question, Hermione," Harry reminded her.

"That's what teachers do! They ask you things!"

"Not like that, Harry. They're not supposed to ask questions like that."

Harry still didn't understand why Hermione sounded so angry, but he didn't really care. He felt good. Great actually! He let himself be dragged down the halls, not bothering himself with where they were going. Hogwarts was so pretty…

"How're you feeling, Harry?" George asked, draping an arm around him.

How did he feel? Harry wasn't exactly sure. Floaty?

"Like clouds."

"What does that even mean?"

Harry shrugged.

"I dunno. I'm not a cloud."

George laughed. Harry grinned up at him. He loved that sound.

The group arrived at the Room of Requirement, requesting a space that looked much like the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry thought it was too red. He asked the room to make things more colorful. Immediately, the room exploded into a hodgepodge of random neon furniture.

Much better.

Harry collapsed onto a bright green sofa, Fred and George on either side of him.

"Yikes, Harry. You definitely shouldn't be an interior decorator," Ron said, looking around the room in horror.

"That's what you think," Harry retorted.

"I'm a decorating genius."

"Can we please call Sirius now?" Fred asked gleefully.

"He needs to see this."

A mirror was shoved into Harry's hand. He recognized this mirror. What was he supposed to do with it again?

"Sirius Black," George said, taking the mirror from Harry's hands.

Sirius' face appeared in the mirror, grinning madly. Remus was sitting next to him, looking amused.

"Hi!" Harry said loudly.

"How'd you guys get into this mirror?"

Sirius chuckled lightly.

"Wow. He's really out of it."

"You have no idea," Fred said.

"He's acting completely wacky."

"Rude," Harry muttered.

"This is why George is my favorite."

Fred looked affronted.

"I thought I was your favorite, Harry! I'm hurt."

Harry shook his head. Of course George was his favorite.

"No offense, Fred. George is just better. He's smarter, better looking…"

"We're identical!"

Harry looked between the two twins. They did look similar, but...George was just...George.

"No, he's definitely more handsome."

"Awwww...how cute…" Sirius sing-songed.

"I'm not cute," Harry reminded his godfather.

"I'm very intimidating. Don't you forget it!"

Everyone was laughing at him again.

"It's not funny! Just ask Voldie! I'm very scary."

"Voldie?" Ron asked, eyebrow raised.

"Yes. Old Tommy boy. He's my brain buddy."

"Sweet Merlin," Remus said, shaking his head.

"How long until this wears off? He's starting to scare me a bit."

Hermione checked her watch, frowning.

"About twenty minutes, I think."

Harry stopped listening to them. He was getting tired. He let his head fall onto George's shoulder, shutting out the others. They were annoying. He let everything fade into the background, enjoying the feeling of floating in the clouds.

...

When he came back to awareness, Harry could tell immediately that the Potion had worn off. He had a terrible headache. He sat up, groaning.

"How're you doing, Harry?" George asked, looking down at him.

"Okay."

"Do you remember…"

"Yep. Everything."

He couldn't believe he'd made such a fool of himself. He didn't mind all the stupid stuff about Quidditch, but that question Snape had asked...that had crossed a line.

"So, do you still think George is better looking?" Fred asked slyly.

Harry glared at him.

...

The next morning dawned cold and cloudy, hardly ideal Quidditch weather. Harry didn't mind. He would play Quidditch in the middle of a Hurricane if it meant he got to fly.

He had mixed feelings about playing against Hufflepuff. Their team was considerably weaker than they had been due to the loss of their Captain and Seeker. Cedric should be playing today. He should be zooming through the air, doing what he loved, not buried in the ground, cold and lifeless.

Harry shook away the thoughts. He wasn't supposed to dwell on Cedric. It was one of the things Professor McGonagall had stressed in their sessions. The advice had helped. Harry hadn't dreamed of Cedric in almost a month. He just wished he could forget about Cedric without feeling so guilty about it. He felt almost obligated to think of the other boy, to keep his memory alive because he'd failed to prevent his death.

"Harry?" Ron asked from the doorway to the dormitory

"You ready?"

Harry nodded, following his friend down to breakfast, trying his best to leave his morbid thoughts behind.

...

Harry scanned the pitch, eyes straining for a glimpse of the Snitch.

They'd been playing for nearly two hours, and Harry hadn't seen the tiny golden ball even once. Gryffindor was leading 430-110, and Harry wanted to end the match as quickly as possible. The Hufflepuff team looked terribly dejected, and Harry wanted to put them out of their misery.

The Hufflepuff Seeker, Summerby, had been trailing Harry the entire game, sticking to him like glue. It was rather annoying.

At least the weather had cleared up, clouds parting to let the sun shine through. There was only one problem: Harry kept getting distracted by the way the sun glinted off George's hair. He kept catching himself staring at George from across the pitch, entranced by him.

He felt like an idiot. This was hardly the time to be acting like a love-sick puppy. It wasn't like he was trying to cast a Patronus…

A Patronus...

A Patronus!

That was the answer!

The universal shield shouldn't solely be a modified Protego, it should incorporate a modified Patronus Charm! The Magical Structures were vastly different but seemed compatible. Once combined, they could make it so one of his modifications might actually work…

WHAM.

Harry had been so distracted, he'd completely missed the Bludger that was heading straight for him. It hit him hard in the left shoulder, spinning his Firebolt right into the wall of the Hufflepuff stands. He felt something crack, his collarbone exploding in pain.

"Gryffindor's Seeker just took a nasty Bludger to the shoulder! Hang in there, Harry!"

Harry righted himself, giving Lee a weak thumbs-up, wincing as the bone in his shoulder shifted painfully.

"Harry, are you okay?" George called, zooming over.

"Yeah. I'm good."

"Pay attention, Potter! Weasley!" Angelina yelled from across the pitch.

"This isn't the time for a romantic rendezvous!"

Harry blushed, flying quickly away from George.

He renewed his efforts to find the Snitch. He needed to end this now. He had Spell-Crafting to do.

The universe seemed to sense his impatience, summoning the Snitch from its hiding place. Harry caught sight of it at last, flitting mere inches from the ground, right beneath the Hufflepuff goal posts. He raced toward it, diving quickly, recklessly.

His left arm was completely useless, forcing him to control his Firebolt with only his right. He lifted his hand from the broom, closing his fingers around the Snitch, legs straining to keep him on course. Once the golden ball was secure, Harry let himself roll off his broom, the cool grass soft under his aching body.

"Potter catches the Snitch! Gryffindor wins 580-110!"

Harry grimaced at the score. That was brutal. The rest of the team landed around him, a blur of red robes.

"You alright, Harry?" Angelina said, concern coloring her tone.

"I think my collarbone is broken, but other than that…"

"Hospital Wing!" cried Angelina, reaching out a hand to grab for his good arm.

"Now! We can't have you injured. We play Ravenclaw in less than a month!"

Harry allowed Angelina to drag him to the Hospital Wing, hoping this would be quick. He needed to test his new idea!

Thankfully, Madame Pomphrey was able to patch him up in less than five minutes, muttering under her breath about ridiculously dangerous sports. Once his arm was healed, Harry fled, running from the Hospital Wing at full speed.

His friends were waiting for him in the Common Room, but Harry ignored them, racing up the stairs and grabbing his bag. He flew back down to the Common Room, heading for the Portrait Hole.

"I'm going to the Room of Requirement…" he called over his shoulder, ignoring their offers to come with him. He was sure they would join him eventually. He didn't want to wait.

Once in the room, Harry pulled out his notes, flipping to a blank page. He quickly recreated the Magical Structure for the Patronus Charm, working entirely from memory. He was intimately familiar with the Patronus, not needing to double-check.

On the page directly beside the Patronus, Harry recreated the Magical Structure for the Shield Charm. The numbers were complementary, nothing standing out as problematic.

Yes!

They would fit together! In fact, it was an ideal match: the Structures were perfect complements. He manipulated each structure, using Arithmancy to stitch the Spells together, mathematically melding each piece until he had created something new.

He drew in a deep breath. This would be the difficult part.

The whole reason a universal shield didn't exist was that the structure of the Shield Charm was completely incompatible with that of the Conjuring Spell. For this to work, the Magical Structure of this Protego-Patronus hybrid had to be compatible with the modified, energy-dispelling substitute for the Conjuring Spell that he'd created.

Harry was hopeful. The Magical Structure of the hybrid Spell in front of him was like nothing he'd ever encountered before. If any two Spells could be combined to create a universal shield...it would be these two: The Protego-Patronus hybrid and Harry's original energy-dispelling charm. The addition of the Patronus Charm had changed the Shield Charm so profoundly that it just might be compatible.

Harry wasn't exactly sure how the addition of the Patronus would affect the outcome. The universal shield might be able to drive away Dementors or it might appear in the form of an animal. It was near impossible to say at this point. It didn't really matter though. As long as he had the components of blocking and shielding, he would have achieved his goal.

He ripped the page containing the replacement Conjuring Spell from his notebook, looking for incompatibilities. He felt his anticipation growing as number after number was compatible. It was working! Months of work were finally paying off.

He checked them against the combined Protego-Patronus. Then, he checked again. Every line fit. Each number a perfect match. This was going to work.

He began the tedious process of fitting the two Magical Structures together, quill moving quickly across the pages of his notebook. He was completely oblivious to his friends entering the room, unconscious of anything but the numbers in front of him, the Spell that was slowly being built. A Spell that could change everything.

Harry wasn't aware of the sun setting or his friends trying to get him to go eat dinner. All he could see was the ocean of numbers before him. He could almost feel the magic pouring off the page, enticing and beautiful.

After three hours of equations, cross-outs, and arithmetic, Harry finally had it: a Magical Structure for what was, theoretically, a universal shield.

He sighed, quill dropping from his limp fingers. All that was left was to figure out an incantation.

"You had a breakthrough?" George asked.

Harry hadn't even noticed he was still there.

"Yeah. A huge one! All I need is an incantation!"

"And food. You haven't eaten since breakfast, and it's nearly 9."

"I'm not hungry. I need to finish this."

"Harry, that's not.."

"I'll eat extra food tomorrow. Promise."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how it works…"

Harry sighed, knowing he was going to lose this fight.

"Fine. I'll eat."

"Great! I'll go get something from the kitchens."

"You don't have to…"

"I want to. I'll be right back."

Harry smiled at him before turning back to his work. This was his least favorite part of the process, almost purely trial-and-error.

It was a terribly annoying procedure. He had a few words he was playing with: protego, omnia, expecto...nothing was working.

He absentmindedly ate the sandwich George had brought him, pausing often to count syllables on his fingers.

"Ugh.." Harry groaned, letting his head drop onto the table.

"I hate Latin."

"Doesn't everyone?" George asked, pulling his chair over beside Harry's, looking over the scraps of Latin on his parchment.

"Have you tried the word for protection?"

No. He hadn't

"Praesidio…" Harry muttered, looking back at the equation.

"I need 3 more syllables.."

"Omnia," George said easily.

"It means all. So the spell roughly translates to…"

"All protection. Praesidio Omnia…."

It was perfect.

Harry lifted his wand, preparing to test the Spell. Before he could begin, George ripped his wand from his hand, scowling.

"Don't even think about it. You know how dangerous experimenting with Spells can be! Tomorrow, we can take it to Dumbledore, but until then...wait."

Harry knew George was right.

"Fine."

...

"Stop bouncing!" George told him, putting a hand on his knee.

"We're going to eat dinner at a normal speed, then and only then, can we go see Dumbledore."

It was the next evening, and Harry could barely contain his excitement.

"I'm serious, Harry. Calm down a little. You're making me nervous."

Harry was finding it very difficult to remain calm. He was desperate for this Spell to work. Desperate. This could be a game-changer for the Order. It could save lives. It HAD to work.

After they'd finished eating and made sure that Dumbledore had left the Great Hall, Harry dragged George to the Headmaster's office.

"Sugar Quill," Harry said, hoping the password hadn't changed since the last time he was here. Luckily, it hadn't.

Harry pulled George up the stairs, knocking on the door to Dumbledore's office.

"Come in!"

Harry pushed open the door, stepping into the room, George just behind him. Harry was disappointed to see that Dumbledore was not alone. Snape was there, documents spread on the desk before him. It looked as though they were in the middle of discussing something important.

"We can come back later.." Harry said, backing toward the door.

"Nonsense!" Dumbledore exclaimed, beckoning them forward.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Well...um…"

"Harry created a new kind of shield, and I wanted you to check it so he doesn't blow himself up," George interrupted, saving Harry from looking like a fool.

"A wise choice, Mr. Weasley. Can I see the Spell?"

Harry handed Dumbledore the summary of the Spell. He'd made a clean copy last night, including all the essential information.

Dumbledore read quickly, eyes skimming across the equations and Magical Structures. When he finished reading, he had a look of intense surprise on his face.

"Severus," he whispered.

"Look at this…"

Snape took the parchment from Dumbledore, reading through it just as Dumbledore had done. Harry waited with bated breath, heart pounding. George, noticing his nervousness, took his hand, squeezing reassuringly.

When Snape finished reading, he turned to stare at Harry in disbelief.

"This is…"

"A universal shield," Dumbledore finished for him.

"It should be able to block the Unforgivables. It'll take a strong Wizard to cast it, but still…"

"So, it'll work?" Harry asked, hope clear in his voice.

"Yes, Harry. I'm almost sure it will. Would you like to try it?"

Harry nodded, raising his wand.

The wand movement was simple, but the emotional component was difficult to achieve. It was the opposite of the unforgivables. The opposite of hate: love.

Harry looked at George, taking in the contours of his face. He seized the warmth in his chest, channeling it into his wand.

"Praesidio Omnia."

It was nothing like Harry had expected. At first, it appeared to be simply a transparent shield, a dome of magic. But as they watched, shapes began to appear, rainbow colors swirling around the shield, forming patterns and motifs, shapes and symbols. It was beautiful.

Dumbledore fired a Stunner at the shield. It was absorbed into the dome of magic, the colors growing brighter.

"Severus, the Imperius Curse, if you would."

Snape cast the spell deftly, clinically. It hit the shield, energy fizzling against the surface, sending pure power up Harry's arm. It worked!

"The Cruciatus?" Snape asked, glancing at Dumbledore.

"Now wait just a second…" George said.

"It's okay, George," Harry reassured him.

"It'll work."

It did work. The Cruciatus was dispelled by the shield, blue and silver lights shimmering as the magic was channeled into Harry's wand, fueling his magic.

Harry let the spell end, swaying slightly as the magic left him. The room was silent for several minutes, no one knowing quite what to say. It was Dumbledore who finally spoke, voice full of curiosity.

"Tell me, Harry. The emotion behind the Spell.. am I correct that it is love?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Wonderful…" Dumbledore muttered.

"Tom will not be able to cast it."

Dumbledore turned to Harry, smiling kindly.

"Thank you very much for this, Harry. This will help the Order immensely."

Harry couldn't stop grinning as they walked back to the Common Room. He had done it! He'd actually helped!

"I'm really proud of you," George said, taking his hand.

"I can't believe you did that. It's amazing. You're amazing!"

"You're pretty amazing yourself," Harry told him, meaning it.

...

The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of homework and more homework. Harry didn't mind. He was profoundly happy, overjoyed to have made a difference.

He should have known it was too good to last.

That night, as he lay in bed reading the Ancient Runes notes he'd borrowed from Hermione, the mirror began to buzz.

He picked up quickly, dread growing as he took in the uncharacteristically somber faces of Sirius and Remus.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, trying hard not to panic.

"You know those objects? The ones you're keeping in the Chamber of Secrets?"

"What about them?" Harry asked warily.

He'd explained the effects of the objects to Sirius and Remus a few weeks ago, hoping they would be able to figure out what they were.

"Did you figure out what they are?"

Remus nodded, looking grim.

"Well, what are they?"

"Tell me, Harry," Sirius said gravely.

"Have you ever heard of a Horcrux?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See y'all on WEDNESDAY (I actually mean it this time! I won't be posting early!)
> 
> Thank you for the Kudos and comments. Each one means the world to me :)


	32. Snape's Worst Memory

If someone had told Harry that he would be spending his Monday evening standing in a girls' bathroom with Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin, he would have assumed they had just taken a Bewildering Beverage. But, ridiculous or not, that was exactly the situation Harry found himself in.

The revelation about the true nature of the objects in the Chamber had spurred immediate action. After speaking to Harry, Sirius and Remus had gone straight to Dumbledore, telling him exactly what was hidden in the Chamber of Secrets. Dumbledore, horrified by the information, had requested a journey to see the objects, to examine them.

Harry had agreed readily, wanting Dumbledore's opinion on the objects. If anyone would know what to do about the locket and the tiara, it was Dumbledore. Remus had come as well, not wanting Harry to face this knowledge alone. Harry was glad for his company.

He had been profoundly shaken by the realization that he'd been so attached to such dark, murderous magic. Even now, he had to fight back his nausea as he thought about what the locket and tiara were, whose they were. They were pieces of Voldemort's soul, forged by horrific intent, created by murder. He had formed an intimate connection with pieces of Tom Riddle's soul. The man who had murdered his parents. The man he was destined to kill.

The horror was overwhelming. Harry couldn't bear to remember the nights he'd spent sleeping with the locket flush against his bare skin, clutched in his hand. It was disgusting, revolting, wrong.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked, breaking through his thoughts.

"Would you open the Chamber?"

Harry nodded, stepping up to the sink, letting the Parseltongue flow from his lips. The floor opened, the dark slide coming into view.

Dumbledore greatly enjoyed the ride down, declaring it delightful.

"It's not quite ten-pin bowling, but I'd gladly do it again! Perhaps I'll try one of those Muggle amusement parks I've heard so much about."

Harry had to hold back a snicker at the mental image of Dumbledore sitting on a rollercoaster, long beard flying in the wind. That would be a sight to see.

Harry led the two men into the main chamber, avoiding the enormous Basilisk carcass. He stopped in front of his Rune Circle, glaring warily at the locket and tiara sitting innocently on the stone.

"Would you allow me to end the Spells? I would like to further examine the objects."

Harry really didn't want to. He didn't want to allow the foul magic back into his brain.

"Please, Harry. We must be sure that our suspicions are correct."

"Alright."

Remus, sensing Harry's apprehension, put a hand on his shoulder.

"It'll be okay, Harry."

It was not okay.

The effect as Dumbledore lifted the Rune Circle was violent and immediate, agony exploding from his scar, screaming through every nerve.

Remus reached out to steady him as he swayed, dizzy from pain.

"Albus…"

"Stay with him, Remus. I will take the objects to my office. There are Spells I can set up there which will protect Harry. Join me in 10 minutes. We will talk then."

With that, Dumbledore hurried from the chamber, objects secured safely in the velvet bag he'd brought with him. As the Headmaster's footsteps faded into nothingness, the pain receded. Harry could breathe again.

"Are you alright?"

"I think so," Harry said, offering a weak smile as he righted himself, standing on his own once more.

Remus' face was creased with worry as he looked down at Harry.

"Do they always affect you that violently?"

"No, not really. I was drawn to them, but the pain only started once I tried to get rid of them."

Remus frowned.

"I don't understand…"

"Maybe Dumbledore knows why they affect me like this?"

"Maybe."

Harry tried to ignore how unsure Remus looked, how worried he seemed.

They slowly made their way up to the Headmaster's Office, hoping to give Dumbledore enough time to contain the Horcruxes. When they finally entered the room, they found Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, no trace of the Horcruxes in sight.

"Please sit," he said, gesturing for Remus and Harry to join him.

"I know you have questions, but first I must explain a few things. I suspected that Tom may have made Horcruxes after the Chamber of Secrets was opened…"

"The Diary…" Harry breathed, realization dawning.

"The Diary was a Horcrux!"

Dumbledore nodded, light gleaming off his spectacles.

"Yes. I wasn't sure at the time. I was only able to examine it after it was destroyed, and I couldn't definitively say what kind of magic it was. But the two objects you have brought me, Harry, are undoubtedly Horcruxes. I recognize Tom's magic in them clear as day."

"How?" Harry asked, wondering how Dumbledore could tell Voldemort's magic from anyone else's.

"You are not the only one who can Spell Sense, Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly.

Remus leaned forward, staring hard at Dumbledore.

"What are we going to do about this, Albus? If Voldemort can't be killed while they exist, then…"

"We have to destroy them. All of them," Harry said, dread rising.

"But...how many are there?"

Dumbledore sighed, face falling.

"I don't know."

Dumbledore stood, pacing across the room, clearly deep in thought.

"When I first suspected he had made Horcruxes, I began tracing Tom's steps, trying to understand when he had killed, when he may have made a Horcrux. I'm sorry to say that I've made depressingly little progress. I simply cannot pin him down."

Harry had never seen Dumbledore look this frustrated. He wanted to help.

"Sir, I have a connection to Voldemort. I've seen parts of his memories. I think I even saw him kill the woman that created the locket Horcrux. Can't I…?"

"No," Remus cut in.

"No. You can't possibly be suggesting that you INTENTIONALLY go into Voldemort's mind!"

"But Remus…"

"No, Harry. That…"

"May be our only option," Dumbledore said slowly, not meeting Remus' eyes.

Remus looked shell-shocked.

"Albus, you can't be serious."

Dumbledore ran a hand across his face, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"I am quite serious. If Harry is able to control this connection, it may be the key to finding these Horcruxes. And we do need to find them, Remus. If we do not, Harry's task will be impossible. The prophecy can never come to pass."

Remus spluttered, glancing between Harry and Dumbledore like they were both crazy.

"What even is this 'connection' he has with Voldemort? You've yet to offer an explanation for it, and after what I just witnessed in the Chamber, I think I deserve to know what's going on!"

"Remus…"

"No, Albus! I'm tired of this! This connection is hurting Harry, causing him pain! I need to know what it is!"

Remus seemed desperate, panicked. Far from the calm man Harry had come to know.

"I believe," Dumbledore began, voice calm.

"That on the night Voldemort attempted to kill Harry, he accidentally formed a magical bond between them. It is the reason Harry can speak Parseltongue, the reason he can see into Voldemort's mind."

"That's all?" Remus asked.

"It's purely a magical connection?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, offering Remus a kind smile.

"Once he learns to control the connection, it will no longer be a burden to him. It is only problematic because he cannot yet stop Voldemort's magic from becoming intertwined with his own. Once he has mastered Occlumency, he will no longer have the pain or the dreams that come from the link."

"And the Horcruxes?" Harry interjected.

"Why do they affect me so badly?"

Dumbledore turned to face Harry, brow furrowing slightly.

"I believe it is because the objects possess a large amount of Voldemort's magic. Being near them brings the magical connection to the forefront of your mind, making it harder to control."

Harry nodded. That made sense. It explained why he could hear that strain of Voldemort's magic in his mind, why it was louder around the Horcruxes, tugging on his consciousness.

"You're sure that's all it is?" Remus asked.

"Indeed."

"And intentionally going into Voldemort's mind won't hurt him?"

"No. It won't."

Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Alright, but...I want you to be with him when he tries it."

"Of course, Remus. In any case, I don't think we'll be trying it for a few months at least. Harry has not yet mastered Occlumency. Trying anything before he's done that would be foolish. I will ensure his safety, Remus. I promise."

Remus seemed satisfied, bidding farewell to Dumbledore and standing up to leave.

"Harry, would you walk me out?"

Harry nodded, following Remus. As they left the office, neither noticed the look of intense guilt and sadness that flashed momentarily across the kind face of Albus Dumbledore.

…

After saying goodbye to Remus, Harry made his way back to the Common Room. He had a ton of homework to do. His busy schedule was becoming almost unmanageable. He had dueling with Tonks on Monday and Wednesday, Occlumency on Tuesday and Friday, and meetings with McGonagall on Thursday. All the extra lessons meant he was up late almost every night, working his way through mountains of reading and written work. This made it almost impossible to wake up for morning Quidditch practice.

Harry knew he was walking a fine line between being busy and overworking himself. There were just so many things he needed to get done. Despite the war, he was determined to do well in school, wanting to make Sirius and Remus proud, needing to uphold his parents' legacy. He pushed himself in his academics, pushed himself in his training, pushed himself in Quidditch. He was always pushing. It was exhausting.

Professor McGonagall had tried to convince him to cut back his time training with Tonks and Snape, but Harry had refused. Occlumency and dueling were just too important. She had reluctantly agreed to let him continue but had warned him that if she saw him struggling, she would call off the lessons herself.

Her protectiveness was a bit annoying, but it still made him feel warm inside. He wasn't used to adults caring about how he was doing. Especially not emotionally. It made him feel like he was actually important.

Harry stepped through the Portrait Hole, making a beeline for his friends. He settled into the seat George had saved for him, pulling out his Transfiguration essay.

This was Harry's favorite time of day. He loved the peace of the Common Room, the scratching of quills in the air, the warmth of the fire, the comfort of George sitting next to him.

"How was it?" George whispered.

"Were the objects what Dumbledore thought they were?"

Harry nodded.

"You okay?"

Another nod.

"Are you lying?"

"Not this time," Harry said lightly, grinning up at George

"Good then," George said, flashing a smile as he returned to his work.

George was the only person Harry had told about the Horcruxes. He planned to tell the rest of his friends after OWLs, not wanting to bring more stress into their lives right now. He had told George because he'd needed to. The other boy had a way of making all of Harry's problems feel smaller, easier.

He got lost in his Transfiguration essay, then Charms, then History of Magic. By 11, he had only one assignment left to do. It was his least favorite piece of homework: the Dream Diary for Divination. His dreams were never fun to relive. He was sleeping better recently, but he still had nightmares. Of late, they'd been primarily of Umbridge.

Last night, he'd had a nightmare where she'd put him under the Imperius Curse and forced him to carve entire chapters of _Defensive Magical Theory_ onto his body. He'd almost vomited upon waking, remembering the many torturous nights he'd spent in her office, reliving the horror of his flesh burning and bleeding. It had taken minutes for him to remember that he was safe in Gryffindor Tower and she was in Azkaban.

He stared at the pages of the Dream Diary, quill dripping ink onto the parchment. He brought the tip to the page, beginning to summarize the dream, trying not to think too hard about what he was writing down. Once he was done, he opened the textbook on dream interpretation with a sigh. This was the part of the assignment he truly hated. There was nothing to interpret here. He knew exactly what this dream meant: it was a traumatic memory coming to the front of his subconscious. It didn't mean anything more than that.

Unfortunately, Professor Trelawney wouldn't accept such a mundane explanation. He sighed, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Everything okay?" George asked, looking a bit amused.

"No," Harry groaned.

"I can't figure out how to interpret this dream in a way that'll make Trelawney happy."

"Let me see…"

George snatched the Dream Diary from his hands, scanning the page, face falling as he read.

"This is…"

George looked sick.

"Do you dream about her often?"

Harry shrugged, taking the Dream Diary from George's lax grip.

"Sometimes."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry shook his head.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

George looked at him carefully, clearly not convinced.

"Just tell me how to interpret it in a fun, magical way. Please!"

"Well, you could just say that the dream means you'll be killed by Wilbert Slinkhard in a duel."

Harry laughed, writing it down.

"That's really good! Thanks."

"Or maybe killer marshmallows?"

Harry stared at him.

"What? Why?"

"Well, it's Trelawney. The less sense it makes the better!"

"Maybe he can kill me with a poisoned marshmallow?"

"Yes! A pink one! That's why Umbridge is there."

Harry jotted it down, grinning.

"I've never used death by marshmallow before. She'll probably appreciate that."

Silence fell as Harry scratched away at his parchment, trying not to focus too hard on what he was really writing about.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"When was the last time you had a good dream?"

Harry paused, letting his quill drop onto the table. When WAS the last time he'd had a good dream?

"I can't remember."

It was the truth. Merlin, the truth was depressing.

"Maybe sometime last year? Before the Goblet?"

"I'm sorry," George breathed, looking sad.

"It's not your fault. You help, actually."

"Really?"

Harry took George's hand, entangling their fingers.

"More than you know."

…

"Alright, Potter. Let's see if you've made any improvement since last week."

Harry really hoped he had. He was tired of reliving his bad memories, tired of seeing the past repeating over and over again.

His Spell Sensing method, though effective, was unreliable. It only worked some of the time, usually at the very beginning of lessons. Once he'd gotten caught in a memory, Harry found it very difficult to focus enough for his Spell Sensing to work.

It was a vicious cycle: the more desperate he was to avoid his memories, the harder it was to protect himself from them.

Harry braced himself, letting his magic flow into the room, grabbing for Snape's magic. The terrible melody overloaded his senses, dark and foreboding, painful and furious.

What Harry did next was simply a mistake, a choice born of curiosity. As Snape snarled "legilimens," Harry did not focus on his own magic. Instead, he focused on Snape's. Without meaning to, without understanding what he was doing, Harry latched onto Snape's magic and fell into his Professor's mind.

At first, there was nothing but blackness, but as the melody grew louder, Harry began to see images. Shapes flitted by, snippets of memories, flashes of emotion. He tried to exit. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to see Snape's memories.

His attempt to escape was foiled as he fell headlong into a memory, dragged toward the epicenter of the painful melody, pulled into its depths.

" _My Lord," He spoke, silky words sliding from his lips as he knelt before his master._

" _I bring news."_

" _Speak, Severus! Tell me what you have for me."_

_He steeled himself, hoping his Lord would be pleased by this information._

" _The old fool, Dumbledore, interviewed the Seer Trelawney tonight. She gave a true prophecy. A prophecy about the only one who can defeat you."_

_The Dark Lord straightened, eyes gleaming._

" _Tell me!" he hissed, voice dangerous._

_He recited what he had heard, excitement thrumming through his body._

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches._ _Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies."_

_The Dark Lord stiffened._

" _That was all?"_

" _No, My Lord. There was more, but I was thrown out before I could hear it."_

_The Dark Lord smiled. A cold, terrifying smile._

" _You have done well, Severus. You will be rewarded for this."_

_He would be rewarded. At last._

The memory swirled away as Harry was tugged immediately into another.

_It was her. He thought it was HER son. He had to do something._

" _My Lord," He asked, desperately hoping this would work._

" _The woman...Lily. She was a friend. Despite her dirty blood, she is a powerful Witch. Would you…?"_

" _You wish for me to spare the girl?"_

" _Yes, My Lord. If it pleases you."_

_The Dark Lord smirked, lips turning up at the corners._

" _Very well, Severus. You shall have your woman. She is quite beautiful, after all."_

" _Yes, My Lord. Thank you, My Lord."_

_Lily would live. The Dark Lord would spare her._

_Lily would live and Potter would die…._

Harry was yanked from the memory, flung violently from Snape's mind.

Harry gasped, shock filling him only to be replaced almost immediately by fury. Raging fury.

He looked up at Snape, staring right into his cold, dark eyes.

"It was you…"

Snape said nothing, face pale, eyes gleaming.

"You told him the prophecy. You…"

This man had ruined his life. This man, who insulted his father at every turn, had gotten James and Lily Potter killed, had taken the information right to Voldemort, had doomed all three of them.

Harry had never wanted to hurt someone more than he wanted to hurt Professor Snape. He wanted to pull out his wand and cast curse after curse at the man. He wanted him to SUFFER. He wanted to make him pay for what he had done.

The fury was too palpable, too real. It scared him. If he stayed here, he was going to do something he would regret. Not knowing what else to do, Harry grabbed his bag and fled, letting the office door slam behind him.

He ran.

He ran through the corridors and straight to the Room of Requirement, legs pumping and breath coming in fractured gasps. When he reached the door, he paced back and forth three times, pleading for a place to be alone. The room that appeared was dark and empty, barren and black.

Harry slammed inside, heart pounding and fists clenched.

He couldn't believe that Snape had been the one to tell Voldemort the prophecy. He couldn't believe that Dumbledore always defended Snape when he'd contributed to the death of Harry's parents, when he CONTINUED to insult James Potter, when he hadn't cared if James died..hadn't cared if Harry died...

Harry needed to burn off some of this murderous energy. His mind was swirling with fury and betrayal. He needed to hit something.

He swung his fist at the empty air, wishing there was something there to smash.

The room complied with his unconscious thought, producing a floating pane of glass. Harry's fist flew straight through it, glass shattering, shards embedding themselves in his flesh, blood flowing down his arm.

Harry dropped to the ground, glass shattered around him, glittering shards gleaming on the black floor. He stared at the blood on his hand, the glimmering slivers poking out of his skin. He stared and felt nothing.

The anger was gone, burned away. All he felt now was empty.

Empty.

A sound was coming from his bag, buzzing, vibrating. Harry reached inside, fighting the numbness in his chest. It was the two-way mirror. Sirius was calling.

Harry picked up, watching disjointedly as Sirius' face appeared before him. He looked frantic.

"Harry? Dumbledore told us that something happened during Occlumency. Are you alright?"

Remus was sitting next to Sirius, staring at Harry, eyes cautious.

"It was him," Harry said, voice breaking.

"It was him."

"What was who, Harry?" Sirius asked, confusion clear in his expression.

"It was Snape. He told Voldemort the prophecy. He told him...he…"

"Oh," Sirius whispered, going pale.

"How do you know?"

"I saw it. I broke into his memories by mistake. I saw him telling Voldemort, I felt how PROUD he was. I saw him when he asked for Voldemort to spare Mum and didn't...didn't care…"

Harry pressed his left hand against his right, driving the glass further in, allowing the pain to center him.

"He acted like we were nothing. Like Dad and I were worthless. He led Voldemort to us, and he doesn't even care. He's not even sorry. He's glad Dad's dead, and Dumbledore still TRUSTS him. Still lets him insult Dad...even when he's...even though…"

Harry stopped speaking, choking on his own emotion, strangled by his fury.

"He told Voldemort?" Remus' voice was cold, icy, frigid.

"He told him? Snape told him?"

"Remus…" Sirius cut in, laying a hand on Remus' arm.

"It's okay…"

"It's not. DON'T tell me it's okay, Sirius."

Remus was breathing hard, face boiling with outrage.

"He has the AUDACITY to continuously bring up our school days, to refuse you forgiveness, when he's the one who TOLD VOLDEMORT THE THING THAT CAUSED HIM TO GO AFTER JAMES AND LILY!?"

Remus' voice cracked on the words, harsh and strained.

All at once, he seemed to deflate, slumping backwards in his chair, face crumpling.

"He...he still acts like he has the moral high ground. Like we're the ones who need to make amends. But HE needs to make amends. I apologized for how we acted, and he treated it like dirt under his shoes. He DARES to pretend that we still owe him something. When he…"

Remus put his head in his hands, shoulders shaking slightly. Harry could only watch as he collapsed in on himself, years of emotion and regret coming to the surface.

Sirius' face was full of concern, twisted, unsure.

"Harry, I think we need to go. I'm so sorry. Please...don't do anything rash. I'll call back later, okay?"

"Okay," Harry whispered.

Sirius ended the call, leaving Harry alone. Bereft.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to feel. He was numb but vengeful, despondent but furious, empty but overflowing. Everything was too much and too big. Too real and too raw.

"Harry?"

A voice sounded from the door, breaking through the glass of his mind.

"What the hell happened?"

George was standing there, horror clear on his face, looking around the black room, taking in the shattered glass and the blood.

"You're hurt," he said, moving toward Harry.

He stopped, drawing his wand to clean up the glass. He sank down beside Harry and reached for his right arm, gently taking the damaged hand.

"What happened?"

"I punched some glass," Harry muttered, feeling nothing and everything.

"Why?"

"It helped…"

"With what?" Harry shook his head, not knowing what to say.

"Does it have something to do with Dumbledore? He was asking if we knew where you were. I think he wants to see you."

Harry stood up, suddenly very much wanting to talk to Dumbledore.

"Let's go."

"Harry, wait. What's going on?"

He didn't answer, marching to Dumbledore's office, snarling the password, slamming through the door.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, looking old and tired.

"Harry…"

"Why?"

Harry didn't even know what he was asking. He didn't know where to start.

"Please sit down, Harry. I can explain."

Harry sat, George taking the chair next to him.

"What's going on?" George asked Dumbledore, never taking his eyes off Harry.

The old man sighed, glancing at Harry.

"Harry found out something about Professor Snape."

"What about him?"

"He was the one who carried news of the prophecy to Lord Voldemort."

Understanding spread across George's face, clarity filling his eyes.

"Why?" Harry demanded again, hating how empty his voice sounded.

"Why what, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, kindness in his tone.

"Why do you...how can you let him…?"

Harry couldn't speak. He couldn't articulate what he wanted to say, couldn't figure out how to express the betrayal, the fury, the pain.

"Severus made a terrible mistake. He didn't know that it would be your family…"

"THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT BETTER!" Harry shouted, noticing the portraits waking up to stare at him.

"You think that makes him better? That it somehow absolves him because he only cared if it was my Mum? That it wouldn't have mattered if it was anyone else? That makes him WORSE! It makes him SELFISH!"

George reached out for him, but Harry snatched his hand away, too furious to be touched.

"And don't say he regrets it!"

"Harry, he does…"

"NO, HE DOESN'T! If he did, then he wouldn't insult Dad all the time. He wouldn't try to ruin my image of him. The image of him that's all I have left."

Harry took in a deep shuddering breath, trying to calm himself.

"I know you trust him, Sir. And I know you believe we should forgive people, but how am I supposed to forgive him?"

"Harry…"

"How can I forgive him if he doesn't feel bad about it? How am I supposed to feel when I know that you let him teach here, let him walk free, when he destroyed my family? When he ruined my life!?"

"He wasn't the only one who contributed to the events of that night…"

"No, he wasn't. But he set the wheel in motion, and he doesn't seem to care. He doesn't seem to understand that what he did had consequences for people other than him. I lost EVERYTHING that night, and all he cared about was that he lost Mum. And she didn't even want anything to do with him! How am I supposed to forgive that?"

Dumbledore looked devastated at Harry's words, devastated and at a loss.

"I don't know, Harry. I simply don't know."

Harry didn't know either. He doubted he ever would.

…

George forced him to go to the Hospital Wing. Harry tried to resist, but George dragged him there, watching him closely as Madame Pomphrey removed the glass from his hand and cleaned the cuts.

Harry thought they would go back to the Common Room, but they didn't.

George took him to the Room of Requirement, calling up a space that looked just like his bedroom at Grimmauld Place.

"I thought you might want to be somewhere comforting," George said, finally breaking the silence between them.

Harry didn't say anything. He felt strange. Like a corpse.

He sat down on the bed, feeling the mattress shift as George sat down beside him.

"What's happening inside your head, Harry?"

"I don't know."

Harry fell silent, trying to find a way to tell George what was haunting him.

"I think I'm a bad person."

"What?"

"I hate him, George. I just...I HATE him. I wanted to hurt him."

"You were angry, Harry. That doesn't make you a bad person."

Harry shook his head.

"You don't understand. What if it starts that way? What if it's just wanting to hurt someone when you're angry, but it turns into more than that? What if I'm becoming more like him? More like Voldemort, more like Uncle Vernon?"

George pulled him close, wrapping him in a hug, resting his head on top of Harry's.

"You're not like them, Harry. You didn't hurt anyone."

"But I wanted to."

"But you didn't. That matters."

"I just don't understand why this hurts so much. It's not like I liked Snape before this."

George tightened his grip slightly, pulling Harry closer.

"It's because you feel betrayed. By Snape. By Dumbledore. You feel like they're dismissing what you've been through by absolving Snape of this crime even when he doesn't show remorse. You feel like Dumbledore doesn't care about you because he's willing to protect the person that helped destroy your family."

That was exactly it. When had George come to understand Harry better than Harry understood himself?

"How can I forgive him, George?"

"You don't have to."

"I WANT to. I don't want to be bitter. I want to be able to move past this. I just don't know how."

"You can try to understand, to empathize, but I don't think you need to forgive Snape. Not until he gives you a reason to. I know that he devoted himself to our cause, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't take responsibility for the role he played in your parents' deaths, in the life that you led after they died. The fact that he's still cruel to you, even after all that...you have every right to be furious at him. Every right."

George fell quiet and Harry let the silence wash over them, listening to George's breathing, memorizing the sound.

"George?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you forgive him?"

George sighed.

"I don't think so. But I'm not as good of a person as you are. I don't think everyone deserves forgiveness. Not when they don't try to fix things. Not when they don't improve."

"Remus was really angry," Harry whispered, bunching his fingers into George's shirt.

"Scarily angry."

"He has every right to be. So do you. You're allowed to get angry, Harry. Merlin knows you have enough reasons to."

"I don't want to be angry. When I get angry, I feel like…"

"Like what?" George asked gently.

"Like Voldemort."

George drew back from him slightly, looking puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"When I'm angry I can feel him. In my head. It's disgusting. It makes me feel disgusting."

"You're not disgusting, and you're nothing like him. Nothing like him at all."

…

The fallout from Harry learning that Snape had been the one to tell Voldemort the prophecy was swift and unexpected.

The very next day, Snape went to Dumbledore and declared that he wouldn't be giving Harry Occlumency lessons anymore. Harry would be training with the Headmaster from now on. The Potions Master seemed determined to avoid all traces of Harry.

Snape wouldn't even look at him.

It made Harry furious.

Snape had no right to avoid him. Harry hadn't done anything to him.

As the weeks passed, Harry's anger faded into something else: exhaustion.

He was tired of being angry. He didn't want to turn into someone like Snape, bitter and caught in the past.

Maybe Snape didn't deserve his forgiveness, but Harry needed to forgive. He needed to let go of this anger before it could consume him entirely.

He needed to get this off his chest. He had to tell Snape how he felt: leave his emotions at the man's feet and walk away empty.

After dinner on a Tuesday, nearly three weeks after the incident, Harry knocked on the door to Snape's office, bracing himself for what was coming.

The door flew open, revealing Snape's pale face.

"What do you want, Potter?"

Harry drew in a deep breath.

"I want to talk to you."

Snape sneered down at him.

"And what makes you think that I wish to speak to you?"

"I don't care if you do. I think you owe it to me to hear me out."

Snape's lips twisted into a snarl.

"I owe you nothing, Potter! I don't have to explain anything to you!"

"Don't you?" Harry asked.

"Because after what you did…"

Before Harry could finish, Snape dragged him inside, slamming the door behind them.

"Do not bring that up!"

"Why? Someone needs to! You can't just pretend I don't exist!"

Snape glared at him, stalking over to his desk, gripping the edge in clenched fists.

"What is it you want from me, Potter?"

How could Snape not understand this?

"I just want you to listen to me. Just this once, I want you to understand."

Snape said nothing, staring at Harry with loathing in his eyes. Harry knew he probably sounded arrogant, but he didn't care. He needed to say this.

"I don't care why you did what you did. I don't care that you're on our side now. I do care that you've hurt people I love, and you've NEVER ONCE tried to make amends to us."

Snape opened his mouth as if to interrupt, but Harry didn't let him.

"Making amends doesn't just mean helping fix your mistakes, it means letting the people you've hurt know that you're sorry. You've NEVER done that. In fact, you've done the opposite. You were cruel to me on the first day you met me. You've made my life harder. You've seen my memories. You know what my childhood was like. You helped create those circumstances, and then you just…"

Harry trailed off, catching his breath.

"You've insulted my father to my face. Over and over again. Did you know that I grew up thinking he was a drunk who got my Mum and himself killed? When I found out he was a hero, I was so happy. And you tried to take that away because you're too bitter to forgive."

Harry straightened up, looking right into Snape's eyes.

"Well, Professor, I don't want to be like you. I don't want to let my anger at those who've hurt me consume my life. So, I forgive you. Not because you deserve it, but because I don't deserve the pain of feeling like this."

Harry turned to leave, pausing at the door. He turned back to Snape, a strange feeling in his chest.

"You deserve to forgive too, Sir. You've kept your grudges for too long. It's time to let them go. If you don't, you'll never be happy."

Snape looked shocked, but Harry kept going.

"I didn't know my mother very well, but I think she would be sad to know that her friend lost himself to bitterness and anger. She believed in forgiveness, Sir. So do I. It's never too late to let go of the past. You can forgive Sirius and Remus, you can forgive yourself. If you don't...your life will only ever be an exercise in failed redemption."

Harry left the classroom feeling lighter than he had in weeks. He'd needed to say that, needed Snape to hear it.

George was waiting for him at the top of the stairs to the Dungeons, worry on his face.

"How'd it go?"

Harry smiled at him.

"It was okay. I said what I needed to say."

They walked out onto the grounds together, the final amber rays of sun gleaming off the lake.

"So, you forgive him then?"

Harry sighed, taking George's hand.

"I think so. I haven't forgotten, and I'm not happy with how he's acted, but…"

"But what?"

"I think I just feel sorry for him now."

George looked entirely taken aback.

"Why?"

"He's so stuck. I think he's been acting out of guilt this whole time, never letting himself forgive himself or anyone else. That's a terrible way to live."

George frowned, eyes full of swimming emotions.

"Yeah. I guess so."

He paused, biting his lip.

"Harry? Do you think I should try to talk to Percy? It's just...what you said. About not being able to forgive. I don't think I want to live my whole life being furious with my brother."

Harry smiled up at George.

"Yeah, I think you should. It helps, George. It really helps."

George grinned back at him.

"Do you think we can trick him into coming to the April Hogsmeade weekend?"

Harry laughed.

"I'm sure we can figure something out."

There was a gleam in George's eye, a shimmer of mischief. Percy Weasley better watch his back. He was about to be pranked into reconciliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be updating on FRIDAY because I have a paper due early next week! As always, thank you for the Kudos and Comments :) 
> 
> (Moral philosophy nugget: please ignore if you find it boring) This chapter is the beginning of what will be a long redemption arc for Snape. Idk if anyone is into moral philosophy, but Snape's actions are very difficult to interpret. If he acts only out of guilt, then his motivation is corrupt and his actions don't count as moral. If he truly changes though, fights for the good of the world, then he is absolved. In canon, we never get a good enough look at Snape's motivations to know for sure, but he does seem to be doing everything for Lily. It may seem romantic, but it's not a morally defensible position. I've never questioned the good Snape did. He undoubtedly helped save the Wizarding World. But I've always questioned his motivations. In order to redeem Snape, I focus on the WHY not the WHAT. This will be a theme going forward. Thank you to those who read that. Sorry to those who hate me now :(


End file.
